(Just an observation of dreary days).
Within twenty minutes the sky had thickened
from piercing blue to murderous slate,
the night cloth over a parrot’s cage.
Clouds, dense and blurred, draped and folded
as silk sliding down the bars.
We both look up as birds might do.
Apprehensive,
before settling down to the resignation
of another uninspiring day.
On terra firma we aimlessly prowl,
no contact but aware,
and having circled like frightened pugilists
both take a place.
Me to read,
you to scowl.
© Graham Sherwood 1/11
