
O wretched sunne why hidтАЩst thy face so soone thou smilтАЩst at dawn yet weepтАЩst by afternoon one hour thou warmтАЩst mine breeches faire and bright the next thou drownтАЩst my hose in rainтАЩs despight the wind doth blow like drunkard at the fair then stills as though he fell asleep mid-air O weather fickle [тАж]
A ballade of wayward skies
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