Clothes on an washing line

Water dripped from the clothes
on the washing line.
They were different.
Colours, shapes, sizes, nature... Types.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
The sun shone on them, brightly.
The breeze blew on them, steadily.
They brushed against each other, slightly.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
And one of them fell down.
from the line, into the puddle.
Not all of them
were privileged enough
to be secured by clothespins.
Not all of them had puddles beneath them.
Drip. Drip.
And then one more. Two (million) more.
The bedsheets swayed on the line, gracefully.
And they were taken inside,
given refuge in high cupboards.

The fallen once weren't re-washed.
And they lay there, Soaked.

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