Categories
Poetry

Grey

Shall I sing to you only of sun shiny days?

I cannot.

The clouds are grey over the meadow

and the rain falls fat and cold

upon the emerald green.

I will not tell you the sun is shining.

It is not.

The day is grey.

It is grey, and it is beautiful.

So incredibly beautiful, you see.

By brookecutler2

Liver of life, lover of everything. 💕

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