From my window on high,
I could see the worst sort of whether,
the drab and dreary day of winter rain,
icy water dropping from,
the sky,
almost frozen, by and by,
seeping down through,
to your bones,
it soak nearly everything,
it touches,
the wind whips and blows,
and the cold rain keeps coming,
soaking the street,
and the dead grass,
and the bare trees,
turning what should be a white field,
into a brown muddy pasture,
always nearly freezing,
the cold winter rain,
just keeps coming,

down.

Written by

Matthew Donnellon is a writer, artist, and sit down comedian. He is the author of The Curious Case of Emma Lee and Other Stories.

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