Skies of blu'ed hues would transform to <br />purplish beet red tints, half blocked by <br />clouds real peppered gray'ed...Storms <br />gather swirls of wind, scattering dust <br />particales debri'ed everywhere.A sun's rays <br />blocked by clouds as thick as hay, baled on <br />a farm's acre'ged in rows zigged as zagged <br />as crookedly straight.A black crow sits on <br />a tractor broken down...Caw, caw, caw is what <br />is heard by a scarecrow, lashed to a pol'ed <br />crucifix, of silenced ignorance, ignored but <br />by an emptied head be straw.Caw, caw, caw-to <br />nothing but clothes echoed emptied.Air <br />whistles about this field of hay...No, no, no- <br />nay, nay, nay, this gloomy darkened stor'med <br />day! An orange cat scampers across this field <br />seeking shelter from this wind...Alas, sin of the wind.<br /><br />Michael Gale<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/skies-of-blu-ed-hues-gives-a-muse/
