In the cold and lonely morning,
In the gray and sullen light,
There's a sadness, and a longing
With each step amid the blight.
There's a comfort, somehow, knowing
That the world is past our might;
That there's more than just what's showing,
All the pain amid the blight.
Are you loved, and are you loving?
Are you moved by others' plight?
Or are you dancing in the shadows
And the snow amid the blight?
In the long and silver morning,
Truth is evident, if trite:
We no perjury suborning,
Must trod on amid the blight.
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Tagged: Tags Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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