A Prediction....

as usual we know about it as
hills know its trees
as grass knows its hoppers
and soil

but we don't talk about it
we dislike storms
it is horrible to see uprooted trees
and blown away houses

we leave things as they are
there is no ripeness yet
but the way you withhold love
and hide second thoughts
very give the signal of the coming days

a desert shall produce its own sandstorm
you prepare the door
i too, keep the windows.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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