 |
| Image Courtesy of foto76/freedigitalphoto.net |
Under the awning,
I'm safe from the sun,
But smothered by plastic,
With no where to run.
The air is not moving,
And spiders swing low,
From webs spun like cotton;
I don't even know.
Under the awning,
The rain cannot fall,
Rain rivers find pathways,
But no joy at all.
Under the awning,
Securely I stand,
But there is no adventure,
And the life lived is bland.
Written in response to Sunday Scribblings 2 writing prompt; Under the Awning...
