Potholes

The puddle rises

But does not speak

It fills with murky

Silt and sleeps

Knowing the rain

Will not continue 

Enough to lead

It through the cracks

To fill the meadow 

And free its mass

That builds when the sun

Finally emerges

To dry and take

Away it's urges

The puddle waits

To be air again

To rise above

The trap within

◄ Saga of April Dark: Song Three

The Gypsy's Curse Never Ends ►

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