Today is a day For sitting quietly, pensively Before the window, Misty gray clouds Hanging low outside And the bare arms of the trees Moist and dripping. You relax in your favorite chair, Settle back, turn on the stereo-- Perhaps smoke a pipe or two And watch each happy curl of smoke Go swirling merrily up, up and away, A blue-grey dream. It grows darker. You think-- Thoughts of love and life, Laughter that has been and is yet to come. Pain, sharp and biting, or The deep, restless ache of loneliness And mocking uncertainty. Someone comes knocking, Collecting for charity: but no change For a ten. The music settles down again; Pipe relit, thoughts once more flowing. Gardens, sunshine, girls who once Were dear; frisking dogs And the clink of silver coins. Life. How strange it all seems now, Yet so ordinary too. "...long after Saturday's gone..." Sings the stereo; it sings and Cannot feel, yet I feel so much And cannot sing. Pain. Love's labor lost--a wounded woman, Who will recover, to be sure, But why did you hurt her? For another... Who was not the other. My life, like the dripping trees, Is obscured by mist and fog; Then, magically one day, it retreats, Leaving all the world bright, fresh and new And her in my arms for a day or two Before once more descending, gray and damp. Pipe's gone out, thoughts vanished. But the fog and I remain, One and the same.
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