Tis only the middle of May,
Yet everything seems so solemly grey.
The dancing water in the creeks,
Suddenly fell down a couple of beats.
The comforting sway of the palm trees,
Didn't sway enough to please.
There's an eerie mood in the air,
Everything felt as dead as hair.
The thick fog weighted us down,
It started from the valley and made it's way to town.
The bronze hair wiped across thy face,
Giving cruel punishment instead of grace.
The flourishing plants have withered away,
And now I'm afraid it's safe to say,
I'm not feeling well today,
In fact, I might be feeling a little grey.