Fresh heavy rain
coming from the North,
maybe from the ocean,
relieves the pain of who sees her
from the rusty train.
Clouds run fast
between the green hills,
past the old barn.
Horses are just little spots
compared to the land.
They have freedom in their veins.
My eyes see never ending lands
until the horizon,
where the wind draws
cool waves on the green fields.
I pictured the landscape
as a postacard in my head,
getting wet by the rain,
that fresh heavy rain
looking for a rainbow.
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A Lonely Journey: through happiness and sadness
Poetrya long journey made of thoughts and emotions around Scotland. 🥀🏴 This collection is reflecting my feelings and emotions, so take good care of it. 🍃
