Kickass, the doorstop dog, with apologies to Carl Sandburg, offers the following:
The fog came wearing muddy boots,
Slithering in like a bad idea,
Camping in the consciousness,
Like outlaw weather on the lam.
But it is only that, a meteorological
Grayness punctuating the sunshine.
So why now does it seem so political?
So pitifully dispiriting?