AG (6/23/88 / Collierville)

The Drain

In the alleys of hotless rain,
That pour more than once, than twice,
but thrice.
Trickle down the gutter drain,
Through a dream of mine,
That craves for more divine.
Crimson low swing of relief,
And but a tragic end resolve,
In a state of disbelief.
Slow to hang on tree limb bore
And my mind at high falls to the drain,
Just like my hopes and dreams, drowned by the hotless rain.

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