I do not see the sun today,
as the sky is rich with clouds;
no shapes or forms abide,
but as a blanket for the horizon.
I recognize this daylight
as but a mere memory of the sun;
it is a mist of white and grey,
where stars have no room to shine.
And tho’ not a sunlit day,
the birds still sing gaily, undaunted;
the sky is silent, in waiting,
and the air is still sweet with Spring.
I can but warm my bare feet,
still with the comfort of living earth;
the warmth of what had been
of what was yesterday, still remains.
I am not dissuaded by the dim,
knowing the sun will return tomorrow;
but, I pray for the moon tonight,
that it will not be but a memory, as well.