The world slowly becomes grey
Denying the clock which shows
That it is the middle of the day
Yet darkness continually grows.
The clouds drift with increasing speed
Though heavy and moisture-filled,
As though they must proceed
To prevent their burden from being spilled.
But then the sky loosens its hold
when full saturation it attains
And huge torrents fall uncontrolled
As finally the clouds yield and it rains.

by Jane Secor

Other poems of JANE SECOR (2)

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