Beneath the clouds a curtain falls,
I see it, of lace in grey,
To hide the demure sky behind
With its virgin blue on parade.
And I advance towards the veiled sky
To push aside its disguise
And wander amid the gentleness
Of the lands where the cloud-silk lies.
This is based on something I saw on a voyage to Scotland – the vast curtain of rain to the North, as inevitable as the vast number of shops selling tourists tartan…
The Hapless Neo-Romantic