Clouds

Sometimestheskiesaresogreyandthe
cloudsaresothickthattheyseemlikethe
fogmachineBromdencomplainedofYou
can’tseeathingyouarefrightenedandblind
Willyoueveragainseethelightandtheblue?

Then, one day, you’re
surprised by some hope, for
instead of one infinite blanket of
grey, you see broken-up clouds,
with blue holes and white rays.

The grey breaks
up some more,
the blue widens, and
the sun smiles
her light.

Now,
the clouds
are just small spots
of ever-so-slight
imperfection.

The
blue
gleefully
rules,
and

the
sun
enkindles
our
joy.

No

more

grey

’til

the

next

rain

is

on

us.

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