O, sun, beautiful sun;
come shine your face on the soggy hills, desolate, and damp;
were all so sad,
you make me mad,
the land is tired of all the gray,
some warmth would help a bit,
if only to clear the clouds away,
in want of warmth to pierce through the misty bog;
the grass weeps,
trees mourn,
not a breath of wind stirs the air;
clouds hang over the hills, trapping fog and humidity,
oh why, you crazy sun, to you drive me to stupidity??!!
A poem I scribbled out in desperation during the fifth rainy day in a row.
come shine your face on the soggy hills, desolate, and damp;
were all so sad,
you make me mad,
the land is tired of all the gray,
some warmth would help a bit,
if only to clear the clouds away,
in want of warmth to pierce through the misty bog;
the grass weeps,
trees mourn,
not a breath of wind stirs the air;
clouds hang over the hills, trapping fog and humidity,
oh why, you crazy sun, to you drive me to stupidity??!!
A poem I scribbled out in desperation during the fifth rainy day in a row.
