Straw
It comes to mind; straw
The smell of harvest is to smell the end of sorrow
and then
to walk up-side-down
down a white drinking straw
funny thing though, the more I think of straw
it makes me feel.
Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741