The sky above is threatening and gray;
The air is half-chilled by the sunless clouds;
It feels like doom's already on its way;
The street is empty where it should have crowds.
All ominous and doubtful signs of fate
Conspire at once to make the scene unreal;
The hour is early, yet it seems so late;
Nothing will settle on an even keel.
Why are these signs and portents all around?
What is the meaning in their several tales?
I'm sure that explanations must abound,
And equally as sure that each one fails
Except for mine. You left today, and I
See all these things and do not wonder why.
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