When the rain fell, a world grew, and something vacant turned green.
As the world grew, its people loved, and something grew in them.
When the people loved, the people lost, and the world grew again.
Posted in response to the challenge Sijo Poetry.
When the Rain Fell
More by Acer Sacharrum
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Morning in Paris
It’s morning in Paris,
and the city still sleeps,
though the sun has long risen
and the cat has long been stretched in the light
that washes over the quiet courtyard.
It’s summer in Paris,
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Mother of Demons
I wrote this for a Lord of the Flies creative project for school for which a prompt was to write about what would happen if it was girls on the island instead of boys.
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