Poetry

My darling says look at the sky
and I see that it’s grey
and I wonder how much
she does really love me
 
and in the distance
I hear the roar of thunder
and how it’s drawing nearer and nearer
 
and we smell the rain
in which she wants to frolic
while it falls and the thunder
is coming closer and closer
 
and there is a light breeze blowing,
which makes her hair hang in strings
while the clouds are drawing close.