The skies are colored all wrong,
Painted a sad ominous grey,
Growing darker and darker by the moment,
Rolling in from the salty bay.
Stay away! I beg of thee, come no closer.
The forecaster promised me sun,
Not this blanket of grey and black,
Taunting me with the hope of fun;
For on the East I can see a small speck of light,
Shining through these gloomy clouds.
Boooom! The thunder rolls in from the bay,
Alas, there will be no reprieve from my dismay.
Is my plea the culprit that has left me stranded,
Abandoning me into these hills of black and grey?
Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!