A heavy, orphan black cloud took shelter in my heart. It called itself my master, and I became its slave. When it whipped the rain, my eyes answered with showers.
Then, a red hibiscus bloomed in my hair — and the cloud vanished, as if it had never been, or found another heart to haunt.
I read the poem of Robert Frost(the dust of snow) and tried to write this poem on the same theme.