I took a walk this morn,
Along a gloomy lane,
To ponder the world,
And my place in it,

The grey clouds,
They look so bleak,
Yet so free,
A blanket of sorrow,

The sky begins to weep,
Along with myself,
Like a somber choir,
Calling out into the fog audience,

They whisper to me as I drudge,
They tell me,
Even misery can be freedom,
Sadness is not made of chains,

Cry and still progress,
I return home a changed man,
The grey clouds,
They continue on to eternity.

  1. SAHetem says:

    I like this a lot!

  2. shauna says:

    Oh wow! You put into voice what I frequently feel on cloudy days! Today we have an unusually warm day with sunshine, but forecast is for temp to plunge again tonight…of course…because my magnolia tree is starting to bud…

  3. shauna says:

    And I am guessing that link may not work right…it should be bmetswife.com

  4. I love this poem —it certainly speaks to me at the preset time. “Even misery can be freedom”

  5. […] A counterpart of sorts of ‘Grey Skies’. […]

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