The morning sky looked like a battlefield,
As blue and gray arose and fought each other—
A replay of the war against the brother.
By and by the gray began to yield.
Blue won the day, but gray returns tomorrow;
Umbrellas up, for the sky will cry its sorrow.
Copyright © 2018 Abigail Gronway – All Rights Reserved
sestet in iambic pentameter
rhyme scheme: abbacc