Transitions

Transitions


Waters are fading from cobalt to grey;
whitecaps begin their wind-dance on the bay.
Crablike, the boats scuttle into the quay.
Red flags are out. There’s a storm on the way.

All the sea craft are secured at the pier.
Windows are battened down. Beaches are clear.
Lightning and thunder are getting quite near.
The storm’s not coming. It’s already here.

Notes:
An entry for the "Invalid Item"  "Mirrored Voices."
The Challenge: Choose a partner and write a stanza each of a poem, trying to make it sound as if the poem has been written by just one person.

In compliance with rule 6, this entry is a collaboration between 🌖 HuntersMoon (Verse 1) and Cherokee Rose (Verse 2)

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