Perhaps the countryside has sunshine.
Here, in the city, we suffer from despair.
The storms do not darken my mood,
But they represent a challenge.
No, it is the interminable gray,
With or without the accompaniment of snow or rain,
That affords me no respite.
It turns even the redeeming elements of the landscape
Into a depressing quest for a spring day
When the Oak will no longer cover the meager park grass
With dull brown twisted and dead leaves.
No comments:
Post a Comment