It’s the Same Old Thing as Yesterday

Cloud No Bigger than a Man’s Hand:

It approaches from the sea, too small

For thunder and lightning

But ominous as a closed fist

And what it will bring

Nearing us, growing larger,

Is completely unknown.

Beware the leaves blowing, beware

The spot on the sun.

All is turned toward it. It rides

The brow of the mind.

Soon, it will shadow one cliff

And a small coastal shrine.

Beware the leaves blowing, beware

The spot on the sun.

Do your work well. Behold

The work yet to be done.

Dick Allen.