Picos Black

By tom_mcculloch

Mon, 13 Sep 2004
  • 520 reads
 

picos black

high in Spain
we held hands in mist
till sleep came under
the shattered Picos

2am wakened by
the patter of the snare,
our old friend
the canvas rainman
an his staccato promise
of lightnin flash
thunder explodin,
100 steam engines
roarin through the tent

lost in the storm
we hunkered deep down
till mornin pattered in
with meek smiles
an strong black tea.

Certificate U
Story
Autobiography