Wed, 04/04/2018 - 19:52 -- Saroda


Elmira, NY
United States

Even the rainbows seem gray

     in this puddle we call Elmira

Slushy in winter, sticky in summer

I wish I could feel safe at night

Mark Twain is buried here

     and his ghost continues to haunt us

Maybe next year the blue will return to our skies.

This poem is about: 
My community
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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