The blue sky was angry,
Perturbed and upset,
But black stormy clouds
The sky could not get.
They had all been reserved
For another date,
So the sky, though enraged,
Just had to wait.
It made gentle breezes
And bright, sunny beams;
Poor substitutes
For the sky’s mental screams.
Now very impatient,
Worn out and bereft,
All weather was halted
When the sky up and left.
Today it is rainy,
But I beg you, don’t cry:
It’s just the temp work
Of a substitute sky.
The Daily Travesty 