Mizzle Down

the clouds have broken, mizzle down
soft on my hand, a tattoo fall
from the sky, to touch me cold
in an erratic beat
for as long as I can stand the chill
and the bite of a wind that doesn’t care
if I am standing here
around me is an easy path

for the indifferent breeze
is wrapping droplets all about me
like a blanket of mizzle down
as the grey descends
to cover morning, I must go
away, inside a day of electric lights
heating and sad glances through window panes

feeling mizzle down


© Frank Prem, 2001

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2 thoughts on “Mizzle Down

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