The sky is low, the clouds are mean, <br />A travelling flake of snow <br />Across a barn or through a rut <br />Debates if it will go. <br /> <br />A narrow wind complains all day <br />How some one treated him; <br />Nature, like us, is sometimes caught <br />Without her diadem.<br /><br />Emily Dickinson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/beclouded/
