The Clouds

The clouds look like they’re painted,

So still up in the sky.

My mood today is tainted;

It’s not important why.

 

The river ripples gently,

Oblivious to me.

I stare at it intently,

Though there’s not much to see.

 

The afternoon grows darker

Since our clocks moved back the time

And the leafless trees look starker,

But they’re useful in a rhyme.