these long weeks while
the locust tree sleeps
unheeding of the rain
that drips from stems
and limbs, the seeking
beaks of the crows pull
seeds from their dangling
brown pods – a meager feed
worthy of the gray,
hungering days and watery dusks
outside my window
© Sarah Whiteley
One of a poet’s many blessings – any weather is poetry weather. 🙂 Happy Friday, my friends!
ebbtide 
true enough! this is lovely, lovely.
LikeLike
Yes, lovely. No such thing as bad weather; only bad feelings about the weather…or sad, or mad, or glad…..
LikeLike
Oh but is SoCal it’s seem we have the same weather over and over again…sunny skies with warm breezes until summer then sunny skies with furnace-blasting heats. 🙂 Makes for a limited array of weather poems.
LikeLike
sounds like you need a vacation to damp (although currently sunny) Seattle 🙂 coffee’s on me
LikeLike
This could almost be the scene here in Britain: the long wet weeks of a mild damp winter. It has its own charm though – as does your poem.
LikeLike
if all else fails, we will always have the weather to talk about 🙂 cheers, John!
LikeLike
Any weather is poetry weather–so true, love it!
LikeLike
indeed Happy Friday Saturday Sunday 🙂 Sarah
LikeLike
🙂
LikeLike
any weather is poetry weather – that is great thought Sarah
LikeLike
thanks, Guy! 🙂
LikeLike