Sep 142011
 
First the clouds were in a heap
Till even sheep could not sleep;
Then the palace of platinum bullion
Lost a shingle and was down a million;
St Peter loitering at the gate
Had no new angels to berate;
Gabriel tossed his trumpet aside,
Sad it tootled unamplified;
An angel's anger at a broken harp
Is more melancholy than sharp;
Sunshine seemed insult above the rain;
The gowns, though clean, were plainly plain;
The heavenly host and lordly train
Were just a parade by another name.


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