the worst of her is in jars
she calls collecting them a hobby
she learned her scales before
exactly how to talk
the music and her laughter,
while her father held the latern,
all the way through cancer
one hand on a piano
and the other on her jars
she wears rain boots on
clear days and they
tell her she’s a pessimist
but really she just
loves the rain

she keeps an umbrella beside a guitar
no good songs are born from sunshine
except when you treat it
as the calm between the rains



(this is the prompt to use 5/8 words)(sorry about it being rhyme-y)

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