Will it Rain
'Pardon me, Sir.
Do you think it will rain?'
I glance up from my paper,
fellow passenger on the train.
'Look outside, friend,
can you not see?
The sun blazing merrily
filter'd sharp through the trees?'
Shaking his head, he grimaced
his countenance a frown,
and when we debarked
his eyes stay'd cast down.
I near smote him with words,
unkindnesses all
his fear or his weakness
or, my utter gall.
For when am I not guilty,
of much the same thing?
of riveting sight downward
to soil, my eyes cling.
I ask if there's hope,
and where might I find joy
whilst my gaze remains lowered
insidious ploy.
'Raise your eyes, you damned Fool!
Open them quick, or be lost!'
yet still I walk thusly
and disregard the cost
