Sometimes words fall like rain
from the tip of your pen
dressed in inks:
Blues, Blacks, Reds.
A downpour of thoughts:
Hopes and Dreams.
Drowning out pages:
Ruled landscapes washed away.
But not today,
The forecast just isn’t there.
Perhaps tomorrow we’ll be lucky,
and there will be rain.
25/04/19
Newfoundlander Does 
Very nice son.