Clouds gather in billows; in pure white wedded,
in grey received, in dark celebrated—by confetti
of rain, in cheers of gales, trumpeted by thunder.
In reversal of roles, the audience by rice buffeted;
cakes of mud and pools of rain decorate the party
of mortals and not—all bear witness in storms and showers.
In their wake, the grey disperse after the dark lighten;
then come the big ball of fire and the cerulean tapestry
adorned in salute by seven bows, of seven colors.
A bout of passion, of matrimony in hues enshrined
forever more.
NaPoWrimo April 16 prompt, a curtal sonnet.
Flipped Serendipity 