GREY FINGERS
Cold grey hands clutch the sun so it cannot shine,
She struggles to break through wanting the weather to be fine,
Yet those cold grey fingers deny us her winter radiant face,
I wonder if at all we will be blessed with her grace?
No blue show through the heavy shawl of dark grey,
No white snow clouds prance or seem to come along our way,
Greyness shrouds the world yet there is light still there
And there is less chill in the ice cold air.
The snow does not sparkle but is still pure white,
And the snow covered trees still fill us with delight,
But if the sun were to win this battle, shine bright and free,
What a truly magnificent scene everyone would see,
(Millicent)Ann Margetson 7 January 2006