By a child's wet fingers

The rain keeps falling,
'til all is mud and water,
and the marsh laps at concrete buildings,
like a sea risen from the deep earth.

Roots slip in sodden soil,
a mighty oak falls,
three centuries ended by a dive,
into the doomsday mirror of the waters.

History is flicked over,
by a child's wet fingers,
as the newborn swamp rises,
heeding a more ancient call.

Line Count and Contest Link ▼

LINE COUNT: 12
CONTEST:

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Shadows and Light Poetry Contest  (E) Do you love the challenge and creativity of free verse poetry? This contest is for you. #1935693 by Choconut