Moon got dim, an eerie sense did cascade,
The Nimbus, so subtle, performed a serenade.
For it didn’t want the rain to leave,
But raindrops did spill, I’m afraid.

Forlornly arrived the raindrop,
While the Freesias did ghastly sob.
Why is Nimbus always the tragedian?
It moved ponderously; but hastily did it throb.

Longevity? The scented Freesias did stale,
Rain did appeal mellifluously, but it came too frail.
Was it serendipitous for the Nimbus to leak?
Tattered, the ground had turned so pale.

Envisaging joy, dim was the light,
While the rain still dropped beside.
The cloud brimmed over, the rain showered,
We didn’t care, but now the scent is deprived.