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Literature Text
He looked up into the sky,
And watched the clouds scuddling overhead.
He couldn't figure out why,
But he had the need to go to bed.
Perhaps it was the slow rain,
Falling drop by drop on his window.
Or the dark that also came,
Maknig him both sleepy and mellow.
Either way his eyelids fell,
Drooping, heavy, not letting him stay.
No point resisting, ah well,
Tomorrow may be a nicer day.
And watched the clouds scuddling overhead.
He couldn't figure out why,
But he had the need to go to bed.
Perhaps it was the slow rain,
Falling drop by drop on his window.
Or the dark that also came,
Maknig him both sleepy and mellow.
Either way his eyelids fell,
Drooping, heavy, not letting him stay.
No point resisting, ah well,
Tomorrow may be a nicer day.
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From: 2010
It was written from the first sentence (first two lines), that was meant to be the beginning of a short story. Instead, I felt like writing a poem.
It was written from the first sentence (first two lines), that was meant to be the beginning of a short story. Instead, I felt like writing a poem.
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