Whoa! the final day. usually, i will write something light or personal for the final NaPo poem. but the flu is still dragging me along and i am happy to produce anything at all...
over the rooftops
over the rooftops from which the blackbirds have passed
the clouds hung like a wet veil as the evening retreated
a flash of lightning lit up a second, white as a shroud
the wind moaned by, trapping dust and leaves in its blast.