Sun's light flits above the cloud,

she feels spent but she's not proud,

her glow's brilliance bounces back,

works the sky like canvas strap

Thunder claps into a roar

but it's his laugh, a noisy bore,

redundant necessity

thus to rouse motion's ferry.

Clouds soon cry down heavy rain,

like angels cleaning out the pain,

grime and funk we hold on to,

and just then, the skies turn blue.

Written by Rose Loya 2008