The Grey

There is, I think, a certain peace to be found in a cold, rainy winter’s day.

Winter’s burden borne by water,

calm and cold it carries peace.

Grim and grey the grip of winter,

‘neath another night’s release.

Flame now flickers, flares and flashes,

settles and softens then soothes the day;

A world awakened by winter’s waning

must slumber still, waiting for sun’s rays.