the Gray Season

Trees shed,
Ostensible hairs,
Actual tears,
This season,
Gray season.

Ominous skies,
puffed with particles,
particles of pure joy.
Skies rain down pure joy!

Days of pure joy;
Beautiful and yet,
we get but four,
and none more.

Gray season, indeed.

poem by D.P. Lukich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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