(untitled #72) Poem by bob barci
(untitled #72)
Rating: ★2.7
I sit on windy porch
with hazelnut in my coffee.
Swift moving clouds
spell impending rain.
Impatiently, I wait
for phone call of good news.
Shall I be chosen for reality show?
The chill of the rain
drives me back inside
to keep an eye on the phone.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Topic(s) of this poem: clouds,rain
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8/24/2026 8:10:48 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
