A Gray Dawn in New England

When God took up to paint this dawn,

A chilling, dismal winter’s day,

Alas, his palette was constrained

To gray, just gray, just shades of gray.

Gray skies, gray clouds, gray roads, gray trees,

An ever-widening spread of gray.

The wash of color elsewhere lies

This cold and lifeless winter’s day.

Hard edges frame a picture ’round

To point our eyes to brilliant views.

This morning stands to contrast with

The dazzling wash of summer’s hues.

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