Eclipse

raisins in the sun; black men run snowflakes in june fall from the sky and dismally we cry for the moon has frozen itself the glare of cold stars burns our souls; the clouds are weeping. old mother nature is senile. she sits darning holes that have worn in the ages while eternity is slipping into oblivion as a black sun is dripping (or maybe it's crying) dark blobs upon the pages of the book of life and her children are dying...