...And now, it rains.
A charmless weekend retreats into memory:
The crying babies, spoiled older children,
Whiny pensioners, a dance recital, ad hoc
Meals, the sundry solemn disappointments
Which arrive each Mother's Day, are gone.
A shapeless aftermath ensues.  I rise, and, in
The darkness, see my possibilites as manifold
Until the sky grows lighter.  When I push apart
The drapes, propelled by nascent expectations,
I learn that the sun's been blotted out...