The changing weather

I was up early this morning, and saw a sunrise.

The whole sky was the purple-grey,

and it scared me.

 

Last night, when I was still up,

I looked outside and the whole sky was purple-black

a shade darker than it was this morning,

a bit too blended.

 

It felt more ominous that way. The night not being night,

not being the inky black we know,

but something different.

 

I guess that really says how I feel about change,

even in the weather.

But if you think about it, the weather is the only thing you can always depend on.

It might forecast rain,

and instead the whole day ends up being sunny 

or the other way around.

 

But I know my sky is always going to be blue. 

(or it might always be grey)

And rain is always going to fall in fat little drops

(or mist against my skin)

The fog may roll in quickly

(or the sun will burn freckles onto my nose)

But at least I know to expect the unexpected.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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