A yellow tinge descends,
Butterflies cower in the flower bed
And the peacefullness ends.
The garden always looks greener,
Before the celebrations,
The colours more vibrant and cleaner,
It's the same across the nations.
The rain begins to fall,
The thunder claps,
Like an angry angels' call,
And the sky seems to collapse.
The sun shines bright,
The air smells fresh and clean,
Fresh as the words I write,
And the world has a spectacular sheen.