Bad Weather Poem by Perfection Is Flawed

Hear the thunder, in cold, dark skies,
temper rising as he curses at nothing and everything.

(We hear you. We really do.)

The grayish clouds huddle together, terrified,
Their father, blackfaced and furious, screams silently

(for he can make no noise) .

The sun shies away, she can say no more
She refuses to shine for such uncouth tantrum-throwers.

(The grey clouds usher her away, embarrassed by their father’s outbursts.)

The wind rages against the cloud-children
And the stray feathered creature

(that flutters and flies against her in vain) .

Amidst such weatherly chaos,
The Rain has not fallen.

(and when she does I shall run beneath her and dance and dance and dance.)