Mountainside Showers

The bright morning sun

Dawns behind stormycous

Illuminating the felilds below.

The animas graze on fresh cut grass

And farmers wipe their sweaty brows

Just as the soft rain starts to fall.

The trees swayin the gente wind

As I smile and turn, closing the door

On my small cottage in the mountains.

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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