Gray Skies
“Gray skies”, I say to myself,
And I take my brolly off the shelf.
I amble to the wooden door,
And hearken to the days of yore,
When brollies there were none,
There was only the naked sun,
And clouds there were, clouds galore,
From which torrential rains did pour.
People walked along the street,
Greeting those who they did meet,
They would smile and shake hands,
And amble across yellow sands,
Of beaches young and beaches old,
They would not care, they were once bold.
All this I think, all this I surmise,
All while gazing at those gray skies.
© Tasha Kahn
