A moment ago it was day,
grey as dawn never growing to adolescence,
deliquescence of the autumn glow
below, beneath this window
and across the empty meadow,
where only the wind stirs,
murmurs like the endless, distant,
inconstant sea.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

2 thoughts on “Grey”

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