The sky hangs low, a blanket gray and vast, And muted tones the weary world embrace. No golden sun its cheerful light has cast, A somber stillness settles on this place. Yet in this hush, a different voice can rise, A quiet knowing, born of gentle rain, Reflecting truths that often meet our eyes When brilliance fades and shadows softly reign. The hurried pace of sunlit days gives way To contemplation, deep and slow and sure. The inner landscape opens to the day, And wisdom’s seeds find soil that will endure. So let the clouds their somber vigil keep, For in their gray, the heart can ponder deep.
