For All my Friends Currently Living in West Yorkshire (sonnet)

I think it is the light defines a place,
There is no colour like the shade of blue,
Above you in your parish; empty space,
Scattered particles, short waves creating hue,
The slightest change and you must be elsewhere,
In August here the sky is pale turquoise,
Like a post war car, and here and there,
The lightest wisps of cloud. Nothing destroys
A place like light that's dull. The conurbations
West of here are victims, grey, blackened stone
Absorbing light, the thirty four dull gradations
Subtle variations in the dismal tone,
And in the natures of the people there reflected,
Those poor souls whom sunlight has rejected.