For Every Storm
For every storm there is a room
And find the palace now,
From deserts are a tomb and gloom,
Where clothes must just allow.
The clothing kisses us on cheek,
When effort made us worse,
The cloth we wear is rather chic,
And worry is a curse.
The storm shall grow at all the speed
That problems make us mad,
You did not follow, or then bleed
As madness is your dad.
Some of us will hurt of the inferior people,
Any of the people whose violence is solid,
And very many years are forgotten of summer,
And so much has everything in spring,
And so many have a generation in winter,
Because the Autumn is superior.