The leaden sky is charged with thunder,
heavy with sadness, it turns into the darkest ink
that tints the darkness with a blue shade of wonder,
into which the mournful clouds quietly sink.
As the storm passes, the sky cries in torrents of rain,
the sleepless wind sings a chilling song to a drumming rhythm,
a silent blues about the end of the season’s reign,
and every raindrop becomes a poem unwritten.
© Vanda Ralevska