Thank you, Anni. Maybe I'm a masochist because I do like making things difficult for myself. I considered rhyming each line as well, but that was a bridge too far. Perhaps next time...
The wind kisses the tops of the dry reeds,
urging them to a clatter of bent protest
as they rattle in a stately dance, united
in morose discomfiture of disturbance.
Yet they roll in obedience to the gust,
waves of sunshine and shadow sweeping
their husked multitude, their parched stems
elegant in response to the mischief air.
Line count: 8
Free verse
For Express It In Eight, 05.16.23
Prompt: Write a clatter poem.
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