The First Day Of The Year
John I. Blair
Fleeing fecklessly down the freeway
This early dawning of the year’s first day,
I was subdued by how completely gray
The world appeared at end of night.
The road was gray; the lambent sky
Was also gray, the misty air a prism
Just for green-gray, brown-gray shades;
And, yawning, I felt pretty gray myself.
Gray is a pensive, solemn color
That rarely gets respect;
And the gray this morning lacked all tint
Of amethyst or rose.
But, as with every other color,
This gray lay open to interpretation:
Was it nosing down the path to utter black
Or (my faith) a black attempt at optimism?
©2004 John I. Blair
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