paul rowlinson

The Whether?

You always ask me about the weather.
I say it’s sunny, cloudy or raining;
And it feels like it’s gone on forever.

You don’t need to say anything clever,
Philosophical or entertaining:
You always ask me about the weather.

So it seems like we don’t know each other;
Sometimes, silence can be all-pervading
And feel like it’s going on forever.

Though we exist on different levels;
And the bonds that entwine us are straining,
You always ask me about the weather.

Do you simply ignore me, whenever
I try hard to be tactful, explaining
How it feels like it’s gone on forever?

The lines might be permanently severed
If I can’t stop myself from complaining,
You always ask me about the weather
And it feels like it’s gone on forever…

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