The sky feels heavy, and smells of fog
(although there is none there)
The darkened flowers and ground-drenched showers
Weave whispers pair-by-pair
A bank of billows, dark and fearful,
now creep across the sky,
Encroaching slowly the sun-swept valley.
We don't see them, you and I.
Our gaze is northward, where sunlight shines -
A bridge across the green -
And like that crossing, soon too our passing
Is swept completely clean.
The first drops strike, and startle our sense -
The sun it still shines bright.
But glancing behind, what once was sun-shined
Has turned from day to night.
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