Some days are clad in rain like friars

In a robe of gray.

Clouds hang deep, and drops are falling,

Ever falling,

Washing time away.


Puddles form and keep on growing,

Mirroring the sky,

And cars, like comets, draw long tails

Of teardrops

As they’re rushing by.


The lake, today, wears silver hemming

On its other end –

Snow white ripples mock the sunlight,

Make me thinking:

I shall make amends.


The streets stretch onwards, leaden river

We’re supposed to sail.

But these days, the sails are drenched

And thus to no avail.

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