gloomy sky, fat clouds brim
with grimy-grim gray, sunlight dim.
bowers bristle with rotted flowers.
long-dark day, clotted hours,
streets damp with blots of rain,
oak trees dripping, rippling down the drain.
it seems the blithe and bloomy sky would fain
be bright, but it languishes, gray in pain,
parasited with puffs, survival slim.
as drips of drops fall from a limb,
so swift a man’s allotted hours,
so weak his innate, mortal powers.