August 21, 2016Bioman, Flash, Poem, Poet, Poetry, The Daily Writ, Uncategorized Leave a comment Reeling It isn’t a reel that I dance It is a close-quarter emissary that does it And I watch. For it is about to come, the real-whended useful noise Called the rain. Here it comes and there It goes down the pipe To the rain’s porter called the Butt. But me when to see But don’t ask when to pour as the rain Shall be then and thent the need for water Not Ale. Copyright B E Saunders 2016 Share this:TwitterFacebookPrintLinkedInEmailLike this:Like Loading...