Forgoing the fiery flight,
this beautiful thistle tries to shine,
Glorious grieving moon- gleams,
Soft suspicious taps suddenly spring-
drowned in dreary diluted drops-
long- loud- crashes loom literally.
Painted brightly protruding seen purple-
canvas crumbling- creased and crushed,
Rain, rumbles, rancorous...
Ill future idling forever illuminate-
To view the world is a grey brackdrop,
Lined with reds- greys-
with a hint of drizzle.