Wednesday, September 26, 2018

Poem a Day XVIII

Gray Day

The sky is gray; the clouds
are sorrowful and proud, with rain
that weeps, a sign of pain
of lovers lost and slain; the air
is throb of heart laid bare;
the world is bent with care; and yet--
though all is shower-wet,
it still is hard to fret or sigh
when rain brings flowers nigh.

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