The Moody Sun

the sky holds the bad-tempered sun
in one of those moods,
the dry land is burning

humans walk along in a forced daze
animals take shelter
birds steal old chips

the firey winds blow through the cities
new hairdos flee freely
cracked lips are now “in”

winter white skin turns bright lobster pink
different pigments burn
natural tanners strip off

burning hell is the new spring so it seems
bushfires strip old towns
heartache echoes loss

from out of nowhere he moves so freely
sunnies for Mr Cool
Donning linen luxury

moving in a slow saunter to defy the sun
the sky looks down
wishing for the rain

the clouds see their chance to multiply
little wisps of white
now fat sooty beasts

the sun cracks it, but the storm will arrive
retreating in a huff,
as the clouds explode