A Year of Poems – Day 137

The glaring grey ground down our eyes
till everything sat on the spectrum of monochrome.
No glasses will remove the glaze of ice
which froze, thawed, and froze again
forming a fine gauze which guts the world of light.
Then the galaxy of grey shines out in spring
with pinks so bright the gauze drops
and the world begins to trot, then gallop
in a gallivant that will last till the last petal falls.

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