The white rain-haze steams up from the desolate fields,
and the puddles gleam in freshly-laid furrows,
but in the trenches it looks foul and polluted
like elongated yellow-gray cuts in the earth.
And the silence falls heavy and soft,
as if it wanted to the lay a soothing potion
around each gnawing thought, each mind that grew sick
in the relentlessly dreary fall nights.
Good post . Good poem.
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good poem...!!, and nice pic, looks like an old town
Thanks! It's an old farm in southern Sweden, quite far from any village or town.
Nice post.
wow!!!!!!!fabulous poetry
Very good, dear friend.
Poems are such a beautiful thing. Thanks.
Awesome poetry
Outstanding photography also great article carry on dear sir @steemswede
good job, keep going, wonderful post sir dear @steemswede