Ominous clouds of utter blackness,
Billowing in their ranks,
March across the low horizon
Like artillery, soldiers, tanks.
They move in angry opposition
With malice thru and thru
Against the sky’s content condition
Of golden, gilded blue.
And those who watch the signals
See signs from up on high,
Painted in prophetic vision
Across a divided sky.
We all know the story of the three little pigs—
Two built houses of straw and twigs;
Not wanting to work in the heat and the sun,
They chose instead to play and have fun.
And they mocked the third pig for his planning and care
When he laid out a structure that was sturdy and square.
For he didn’t fall for the quick, flimsy fix,
But carefully built a house made of bricks.
In this earth’s existence, it’s 11:59,
Yet the world races onward, like everything is fine.
And people seem to say “Eat, drink, and let’s be merry!”
Even the “faithful” dally with, “We see the bridegroom tarry.”
Once Upon A Rhyme 