It's storming.
The cloud,
That shadows the daisy,
doesn't fade or go away.
The once yellow daisy,
Can't live without the Son.
It fades to the color black
It searches for the Son,
but the dark cloud follows.
Tears of rain are good some time,
but the rain that comes upon,
this daisy,
Drowns out the breath of Life.
Struggling to break through,
the cloud apon her,
is hopeless.
It bows before the cloud,
giving up,
Then Dying.

[At least, the cloud is no more.]