When rain falls on steep-sloped roofs,
and chases leaves in gutters to the ground,
it maintains its first born hue.
It drips from thin, bare limbs,
hangs out on high rise hedges,
crystal clear shimmering in the sun.
But, strip the earth of top soil skin,
and expose the sinews of Georgia red clay,
the tiny wet rascals slip into clingy, red pajamas,
and stay,
and stay,
and stay!
(all rights reserved Pat Paulk 2006)
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7 comments:
I really like this one.:)
good one
i like this poem, Pat. i grew up in NC, and familiar with red clay, indeed.
nice poem.
Loved it, Pat. Evocative, thrilling and stay...and stay...and stay some more.
Thanks guys! Got a project we've been waiting to start for a month and can't because of the rain!!!!! and more on the way!
I LOVE IT...You do a great job of telling a story with your poetry...The imagery is very well done....I still think you should right a book.
nice one
i spent many years in devon uk
another land of red soil
i especially liked that rainy repetitive ending
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