Marionette
West, the winds of morning billow,
Buffeting the cloudy pillow
Of a death-grey sky.
East, aborted sunlight stumbles
Up the cloud-stair, where it crumbles,
Tumbles, and the pieces lie
Rain-smashed, as the wind bolts by.
Down below, the merchants tighten
Shutters, awnings—storms will frighten
Customers away.
God and weather know no reason,
Man’s a puppet, any season,
White or gold or green or grey,
Sunny—snowy—rainy day.
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