"Rainy Day Lives" by Garfield N. Morgan The crying clouds hang dark with gloom And we spend another afternoon, Playing cards inside a hotel room; With hopes the sun will come round soon. And in our mouths, linger the taste, Of the fickle love we made in haste. While all the seeds we spilled in waste, Ensure nothing around us remains chaste. The crying clouds all grieve in shame. The thunderclaps erase our names. And the lightning on our naked frames, Stills photographs of what remains. And stills somehow, the evidence; For the fruit of both our discontents Threatens to ripen with pretence, In spite of our penitence. And with the cards predicting what may come We plan to counter with our tongues, But we know that when it comes undone, Ours was never harmless fun.