I feel calmer.
Far from harm or, bitchy karma.
A farmer, outstanding in his field.
Proud of all these crops,
That came out of my land!
Pulled from the earth with my hands.
There’s this niggle though,
giggling in the background,
Sewing a seed of doubt.
‘You’d better make hay while the suns out!’
But for how long?
Is this my magnum opus?
My best yield?
Is it going to piss it down?
I don’t see the storm clouds anymore.
So, has it passed me by, or am I in the eye?Oh well, what’s another downpour.