In the middle of nowhere,
That was a somewhere
In a different when,
Sat the sullenly grey,
Wooden-shingled house.

It sat in the middle of a field,
That was formerly a farm
In that other when,
Where the skies were gray,
Which forebode a storm.

In the middle of the house,
There sheltered a family
Who weren’t always a family.
When The Gray came,
A family they became.

Atop the cellar stairs,
There remained two barriers,
While the rest were barren.
And as the storm began,
To the cellar the family retreated.

When blue skies departed,
The Gray was imparted
Upon this part of a different when.
She came with the storms,
Which came with The Gray.

And as this storm now came,
The family knew She was coming.
Down the stairs they descended,
As the doom She impended
Trended downward from the sky.

She was like the storm,
Until in the window She took form;
And a tangible blue She became.
As She peered through the damp glass,
The family huddled amidst the cool stone.

Thanks for reading.

-j