On evenings when the breeze is chill,
trees cower 'neath the gloomy skies;
that seem to darken up at will,
Anger in their glowering eyes.
Trees hasten then to shade the earth,
from the black wrath of the clouds;
that onward march without a dearth,
like giant omninous dull grey shrouds.
Then a flicker of a spark burns bright,
way beyond this morbid screen;
A radiant sheen, sliver of light,
that turns the sky mellow, serene.
What draws us to that tiny spark?
That vows to light up all our dark?
Roann Mendriq
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/moody-skies/
