I walk beneath the weight of grey

Clouds that obscure and blur my way

Through the drenched trials of the storm

That fall upon my cloaked form,

But I stride on into the teeth of the wind.

Face forward I refuse to bend

As the gust tear through the stricken grass

And stripped flowers of daylight past.

When a hole is rent in the blanket of cover

A vision spilt forth of day unsmothered

That casts no light, but sets a view

Of hope seen by the weary few

Reflected only in the glassy stream

And I wonder if hope is only a dream.