Sulky, swollen cloud slugs along the sky,
Tugging other thick, limp lumps along.
Yelping winds mesh clouds together, while rain aims lazily below.
Down on ground, cars close their windows and folk engage their coats,
Leaving no-one to talk to anyone.
Each plump puddle could claim a life,
And no-one would notice.
So be pleased as above, each portly form sails away beyond the eye,
Leaving everyone to talk to anyone,
And each plump puddle becomes a poky drip.