Hail

There are white bullets
falling from a blue sky
and blossoms, leaves on branches
and car roofs
are hit into smithereens

or carry signs of hail,
that descends bigger than golf balls
like rifle shots.

Like the retaliation of a woman
that appears merciless out of the blue
and crackles down
in spite of damage to herself
circling out wider.

poem by Gert StrydomReport problemRelated quotes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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