The silver rain slid down in sleek arrows
That puddled briefly on the pavement
Before washing away in the gutter
Through the thick haze of rain
I could see the grey buildings
Austere in their greyness
Grey stone, grey rooves, grey windows,
Like old ladies with good bone structure
Their greyness enhances their beauty.
It was a cold April day
I was standing on a street corner,
Holding an umbrella,
With a pack on my back,
About to step inside one of the grey buildings
To take a French class
–Cynthia Haggard writes short stories, novels and poetry. During the day, she is a medical writer and has recently opened her own business. For more on her creative writing, go to spunstories. For more about her medical writing services, go to clarifyingconcepts. (c) 2008. All rights reserved.