“The sky the cloud brings,
In turn she sulks and sings,
Tear drops of her sorrow,
Drips from her tomorrow.
Her air she plenty knows,
Rides above winds she rose,
Lash the skies with ease,
Then dies down as she please.
Down field and pipe pours,
Draws her tears to yours,
Tries not release a drop of rain,
Slipping her cloud again.
Tearful cloud now free,
Them others cry unlike thee,
Now she will not sulk but sing,
Clearing skies will bring.”
“She Sulks and Sings” – Poetry’s Amateur
Chief Writing Wolf 