The morning comes,
The sun rises softly,
colors, so many,
beautiful and free.
Clouds begin to cover,
taking all the joy,
up and ever yonder,
It all seems like a toy.
Now it pictures slowly,
Into something worse,
a storm,
not warm,
cold, dark, and cursed.
The rain is taking over,
It's getting darker now,
The sun is going down.
Rain pitter patters
against the window sill,
waiting for the morning,
Trying to end the chill.
-Tessa Hazzard
