Gray , gray,
my day is gray
the sky, the trees, even
the dried grasses in fields and ditches,
once vibrant green and gold,
seem grubby in this grayness
that clouds my eyes today.
I stare out the window and see
such an absence of life. Except for
those black & white magpies;
they don’t help, either,
grunting as they feast on
summer’s withered berries.
The past is gray; the future’s murky,
even the dove of peace is
grungy at this moment.
What is the purpose of today, anyway,
and why am I here to see it?
Shall I just slip away in these waves
of gray washing over me, sweeping
all the castles in the air
my ego has been building
into dark clouds that drench me.
“Just get over it,” a nagging voice
repeats, “Get on with life.”
Will there be a future,
a day the colors all return?
A morning when the sun shines,
when songbirds are singing to me again,
Oh, for a kindly voice to say
this gray won’t last.
A friend to remind me that
“It” (like this gray day)
comes — to pass.”
Friday Tales 