The morning came in golden, kissing every lane,
The sky was dressed in blue, untouched by grief or rain.
My coffee breathed in silence, warm beside the door,
And sunlight swore the day would never darken more.
Then came a bitter wind, with mischief in its grin,
It tore the clouds apart and let the thunder in.
The blue began to fade, the garden lost its light,
And shadows crossed the house and swallowed up the sight.
The first bolt struck the heavens like an old decree,
The rain beat on the window, wild and mercilessly.
The sky pulled down its curtains, black as mourning coal,
And all that once was beautiful began to lose its soul.
Now thunder stalks the rooftops, rattling every stone,
Whilst rain turns every street into a world unknown.
And I just smile in darkness, with nothing left to fear,
For even golden mornings cannot remain sincere.
Perhaps the weather's only an old and cunning thief,
Stealing golden mornings, then returning us our grief.
And when the heavens crumble, furious and grey,
We learn that even hell can miss a brighter day.
enitnatsnoC oãoJ --