Grey Rains
I loved the morning rain when I was young.
At least till I found out that it was grey and not blue.
The flowers seem to have bloomed yesterday as they will tomorrow.
But where I stand in the now,
their beautiful welcoming petals are closed.
To be in a field of fellow flowers,
To experience a different sun,
To be so very mortal and so constantly aware of it.
It is so grey.
