From my bed in the early quiet of the morning <br />I see those stark, bare branches <br />of the tree, <br />etched onto the backcloth of the dirty grey sky. <br /> <br />The year is dying. <br /> <br />Everything is empty. <br /> <br />The tree has no green-ness, <br />the sky is devoid of clouds, <br />the air is filled with silence. <br /> <br />I am alone. <br /> <br />Then....... <br />the slow chug, chug of an engine <br />whispers into the deadness, <br />growing into my ears, <br />and I see the young man <br />with the black dog <br />glide past in the gloom. <br /> <br />He is alive <br />and brings life back onto the cut <br />with his presence. <br /> <br />Another human being. <br /> <br />The day is no longer so grey....<br /><br />Francesca Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/grey-day/
