• Monday morning in the middle of Febuary.
    A storm had past last night,
    Leaving tipped over trees
    And broken pots
    In my backyard.
    The morning was cold,
    I could see the homeless' white breathes dance in the air,
    Outside my window:
    Which the rains have kissed,
    Leaving droplets behind.
    As the morning broke,
    The sun illuminated my room
    And making the droplets
    Seem like diamonds.