Silver threaded wool,
          Fluffy and warm,
  Clings with hopeful comfort,
Against the growing storm,
 Perfectly glossed lips,
          Curl with bitter sarcasm,
Baby blue eyes so innocent,
 But framed by mascara cynicism,
         I twirl the two rings that I wear,
   Watch them gleam as they play with light,
And hope that maybe for a little while,
            Life will be normal, things will be right,
 He will continue to like me,
                             She will be okay,
The situation will recover,
          With each new black and white day,
  But I sigh at the raindrops,
                               And roll my tired eyes,
      Anticipating another drama,
Amongst such stormy skies.