Skies Of Blu'Ed Hues, Gives A Muse. Poem by Michael Gale

Skies of blu'ed hues would transform to
purplish beet red tints, half blocked by
clouds real peppered gray'ed...Storms
gather swirls of wind, scattering dust
particales debri'ed everywhere.A sun's rays
blocked by clouds as thick as hay, baled on
a farm's acre'ged in rows zigged as zagged
as crookedly straight.A black crow sits on
a tractor broken down...Caw, caw, caw is what
is heard by a scarecrow, lashed to a pol'ed
crucifix, of silenced ignorance, ignored but
by an emptied head be straw.Caw, caw, caw-to
nothing but clothes echoed emptied.Air
whistles about this field of hay...No, no, no-
nay, nay, nay, this gloomy darkened stor'med
day! An orange cat scampers across this field
seeking shelter from this wind...Alas, sin of the wind.