Every plant in the yard is green, dark
green, light green.
The black bark on the trees is wet, English Ivy
climbs. Purple flowers are scattered in the tiny
meadow where the yard slopes down. Brown leaves, wet and
unraked, ivy is sprouting up in spots.
Across the street, I see a bit of the yellow house the green.
In an open spot over the street
rain pours down. Cars drive by, lights shining on the wet
pavement. Rain overruns the clogged gutter,
splashing the brick walk.
The birds sing their goodnight songs.