They were angry, I know not why,
roiling and boiling as they flew by,
dark and dismal images so sly.

Without sunshine the day was so dark,
no color, no rainbow with its perfect arc,
the woods left so dismal, dark tree bark.

Cool winds of fate blew the clouds by,
their turmoil was evident from naked eye,
hoping sun would break through, bye and bye.

Waited for the clouds to bring the rain,
while the anger continued, no rain came,
it was as if the dark were a dry refrain.

This poem was composed of dreary gray,
when clouds obscured everything in every way,
and held back the sun; held it at bay.

But there's no denying a sunny day,
eventually it breaks through,
drives the graying dreary away.

We all have angry, cloudy days sometimes.

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Copyright 2020 © Ronald W. Hull

4/29/21

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