When clouds break in a dreary sky
and birds toward sheltered branches fly . . .
I sit in weary solitude . . .
engulfed by some enchanted mood.
The grayness that fortells a storm . . .
stirs feelings in my veins so warm.
Through half-closed lids I watch the worry . . .
of countless clouds that seem to hurry.
The will of Him who cautions all . . .
shall soon command the rain to fall.
And as the drops slowly hit the ground . . .
It makes such a musically pleasant sound.
While others fret and wish for warm . . .
I'm quite happy in a pensive storm!