"A crimson sky breaks the distant shore,"
beaming an omen from the opened draw.
Highlighting a warning to fear, abhor?
Or perchance, a delight joyously to adore?
Which way do I look and when, for this brainstorming.
To read the sky bathed in crimson blood swarming?
Looking left at dawn, I get a warning, yawning!
Looking right at dusk, I get delight, informing!
Red sky at night, red sky at dawn,
What lies between, as day is dusted done, then newborn?
For at both birth and death, blood is often shed forlorn,
spreading its crimson veil, upward into the sky to adorn.
What if I'm not a shepherd or a sailor?
But, a land-blubber, or a tinker tailor?
How should I read the sky's loudhailer?
Perhaps I'll sleep, and wait for the trailer!
Categories:
loudhailer, fate, fear, weather,
Form: Rhyme