On the Dark Days

Another dark day—

the sky, a low, furrowed ceiling;

the skeleton branches, dripping tears,

and all the world, gray.

•••

What have I done?

Drained the azure from the sky?

Stripped the trees of green?

Forever blotted out the sun?

•••

What a dismal, wretched place!

And yet I sense You here—

moving closer through the darkness—

in the last place I ever thought I’d find

grace.

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