Gray

This weather. It's raining. Again. And cloudy. I need a poem to match my meloncholy mood. How about When You Are Old by William Butler Yeats. And let's just jump right into the poem because the only words I can think of to write today are blah, ugh, and sigh.


When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and their shadows deep;


How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.


And bending down beside the glowing bars
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.