A continual cycle of new dresses to protect us from the pollutants that are ever present in the atmosphere and our souls though we clean our exterior repeatedly...love it!

Rains are helpful and needful but can destroy our clothes and hairdos and keep us from doing what we want to do on a day we need to be outside.

So very nice and what a powerful voice
you have. Just keep shining!

May the Sun shine bright on your soul again!
AWESOME well meaning poem! What a way to write it, I am astounded!
Warmed in the Spirit, Warrior Purple Lady Sweet Sheooxoo

STay Positive!

Very nice. 'To wash away wet dreams' BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!!!!!! Liana Margiva

send me your poetry all the time-loved this and your sweet spirit

Soggy, frumpled, and stumbling, she found her way to the blacksmith across the city. She took off her earrings, her necklace, her toe ring, and the treasure on her finger and gave them to the aproned man. Make me a dress, she said, that fits me to a "T". He looked into his palm, and then looked back at her, then smiled and set to work. The mist from his pail of water saturated her even more, but the mist was warm, and so she waited. His hammer sang out, and the bellows pumped oven-warm breezes over her. Sparks lit up the gloomy world around her. Then, finally it was over; he handed her the iron "T." She studies it a bit with deprecation, but politely said thanks and walked away. Upset, she flung the "T" into the sky-- another wasted treasure from her broken treasure box. With sodden dress, she gazed up at the ever-grayer sky and felt the rumble of the thunder from her head down to her feet. She sighed again. But then there-- there in the clouds, she saw a light-- two lights come thundering toward her, and heard the great, bellowing whistle of the speeding "T"rain. An arm reached out and pulled her in, and they sped away, a yellow arrow pointing forward through the streets. They sped away, collecting her belongings as they went-- her shoes, a coat, a child, her treasure box-- and then she snuggled in the folds of crocheted warmth, a little bedraggled head resting in her lap, and they slept until the warm welcoming of Saturday... ...and it's a true story too. --Charlie

sometimes it does seem that way,endless,
stan

Axilea,

Sometimes no matter how hard we scrub or how much detergents we use the purging is never enough. The mind is a wonderous gift and contrary to belief, it's not only elephants who never forget. Peace, Love and Blessings Always, Paul.

This is intense in it's sincerity and brave albeit sad outlook at the subjects world. Seemingly something or someone has made her feel dirty and unclean with a need to find some kind of absolution in cleansing. The beauty of her though shines with each line an undercurrent that grips the reader and wants to make them reach out and say come into my arms child it is not you who are unclean but the hands that once touched you...

Fee

what a stunning allegory. ..
ness

Unrelenting and purification of one's soul through the dissolving of cardboard in the rain. Vowel rich, environmentally, psychologically and metaphysically bent. Rain and Muddy from building a dam in Africa to bring fresh water to the village people, I see you in a new dress, colorful African-prints dyed in fresh dye pots, hanging under a thatch-roof home built on stilts. A Dress Against The Rain is very cleansing, Axilea, mind, body, and spirit...

Sage

I surely hope that the sun shines on you very soon...
Much Peace, Love, and Light,
Amber "V"

Sandie speaks true: you have a unique voice that teases words into manifold layers of implied meaning.

Beautiful.

Keith

Boy, don't I know it. Had it all Spring...and Summer...a break, and back to wet conditions today (along with cold to warm back to cold...and now they're calling for snow here--in TEXAS--on Saturday). Love the way this progresses...excellent, Axilea.

(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.

Your writings are very unique, which makes it all the more interesting!!!

Sandie May :o)