Ode To God

My gloomy God, thee spurt me to write.

How I hate the way thee cloaked and swamped,

Invading my mind day and through the night,

Always dreaming about the chaotic ulf. 

Let me compare thee to a contender?

Thou are more austere, vermillion and death.

Rainy fogs hide the oceans of November, 

Abd autumntime has the boomy daleth. 

How do I hate thou? Let me count the sights.

I hate thy miserable, white and vile nubs, 

Thinking of thy doomy white fills my days. 

My hate for though is the civilian pile. 

Now I must away with a plummy heart, 

And the remembrance of my fear words whilst we're apart.