The idle, unbroken

The clouds are dreary  
Piqued and bleary  
In their tainted, furious core  
severely clapping  
There came a rapping  
lapping up the moor    
   
The velvet grazing of crimson draping    
razing in the fore  
be still the rapid breath, one should  
And the hurling of its lore  
   
Sudden darkness clearing  
I stood there peering  
Into its feathered core  
violence, bespoken  
the idle, unbroken    
And my wilted words, “no more,”    
   
The clouds are churning,    
the swell returning  
even blacker than before  
“clearly,” said I    
My flutters be still  
“It’ll rescind if nothing more “