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. LukichReport problemRelated quotes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Share
 
 
This text contains a mistake
This text is duplicate
The author of this text is another person
Another problem

More info, if necessary

Your name

Your e-mail