The sky is much grayer lack of light and still prayer.
Tree bark darker wet mud dragged upstairs.
No grayer will be in that Michigan sky, mournful woes sad goodbyes.
Sad goodbyes to the bright sun that shocks eyes in May,
It appears a huge orb high in the sky.
We say “What’s that big orange disc by day?”
Who hides behind clouds that we hate.
Oh please dear sun, we beg for your warmth,
We can’t take one more grate of this fate.
My son says, “I don’t know what is better, gray sky or the snow?”,
His smug face looks at me with a smirk.
He’s eighteen and he’s jibbing his mother so low
But he’s serious, he prefers this to hurt,
The hurt of the sun burning down on his face shining wonderful light in his eyes
He was born in a snowbank at the end of this month
Eighteen short years as I rank.
I’ll forgive him this time as there won’t be much more
Of his smart-alec ways to imbibe
He’s going away, out my front door
And that’s when my heart may just die.
Jan. 30, 2017