Tell me ... why this frowning cloud
sinks to press, to wilt
my sunny, blooming further hills ...
bowing for the whim,
for that demurely hostile crescent moon ...
of darker light.
Not mine, this lower, crying cloud,
but drifts upon as from a foreign wake
to bring a shadowed sight,
groping through the misty, melancholic view
of tear strained eyes ...
toward all too bright ...