My heart is gray with bird-wings going south on the north wind
Gray with a dark sky leaning on dark water
My heart is gray with a bare tree standing dumb on a hilltop
Between me and a chill evening sky.
I would warm myself with thoughts of white--blossomed cherry trees
Holding still their white pitchers
For the drip of May moonlight,
I would comfort myself with the memory of the clean yellow bowls of May mornings--
But the wind throws itself on the cold road
And a swirl of dead leaves would choke me,
Holding me straight to November.
It's a gray road that goes over the hills,
It's a frozen gray moon that it leads to,
And only a gray heart can make songs for it's liking.
From The North-east Corner by Frederick R. McCreary