The sound of raindrops on a tin roof.
Mystic gray skies.
The lonely whistle of a passing train.
The quiet silhouette of a billboard in the night sky.
Soaring dreams. Black crows.
My reflection in the window pane.
Rapid rising river flows by
Tempest. Mysterious. Magic.
Solitary saxophone notes wafting
Pulitzer prize sitting dusty on a shelf
Who lives there?