---

Emily Dickinson - Beclouded
Work rating: Low

The sky is low, the clouds are mean,   
A travelling flake of snow   
Across a barn or through a rut   
Debates if it will go.   

A narrow wind complains all day
How some one treated him;   
Nature, like us, is sometimes caught   
Without her diadem.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.