Here, always <br />in our back garden <br /> <br />the clouds form <br />themselves into a cauldron <br /> <br />& the sun <br />a white hot ingot <br /> <br />is flung <br />fiery into it <br /> <br />burning a hole <br />in the sky <br /> <br />as if God <br />(the sleepy sod) <br /> <br />has dozed off <br /> <br />& forgot <br />to put his cigarette <br /> <br />out.<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/just-the-way-it-is-for-janice/
