A dark bank of clouds comes in from the west,

Tourists scurry for cover and a drink,

“They never told us it would rain!” I guess

The chamber of commerce led them to think

This was indeed the world’s most perfect place,

They brought money, fancy clothes, fantasies

Of catching some brass ring. But in their haste

To find perfection, they often leave the keys

To reality behind. The lonely,

Unnatural, artificial paradise,

The one these visitors see, is only

Just another sometimes hard, sometimes nice,

Place. But the lure of the exotic dream

Is hypnotic, the unknown reigns supreme.