What
did he expect,
When
he tied her identity to bad luck for weather?
Always
together, but never
Absorbing
such details as quiet laughter
That
slipped through the cracks of thunder,
Out
from under clouds keeping busy by
Disguising
her smile, I wonder,
If
he ever stopped to ponder
Why
she never invested in an umbrella,
Where
are your rain boots, Cinderella?
Suggesting
her sunshine was never
Out
of the question, and every day
She
stepped out to wet socks
And
shivered in short sleeves to say
She
had hope, that by night
There
might be a clear sky.
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