Always shown in gleaming sunshine, brilliant white against the blue,
On the ferry, off to Manly, I got quite a different view.
Rain came sheeting down the window as the icon floated past.
Full-on rain, much more dramatic than the merely overcast.
A day of simple grey, I'm certain, would have lacked the bright pizazz
That an Opera House that's weeping , still majestic, surely has.
How that shaft of wandering sunshine, which will soon be banished too,
Lights a sail before it glides off into the far-retreating blue.
And I know for sure tomorrow, washed and polished, bright and clean,
The icon will be back to normal, glorying in the summer scene.