It is morning, but it is still dark

Well, the clouds may have gone for a procession,

A procession hidden behind the heavenly firmaments

Strangely, it may never storm

But the town can feel the damp

Soft airs play with the tree’s leaves

Flying them like kites up above the sky

Dark clouds hide the sun

Waiting for her ransom

The morning shy

Enjoy the warmth of mixed cold and hot air

So the air, dark clouds and the morning

May have gone to sleep; a sleepy procession.