The Days the Clouds Went Dirty

The Days the Clouds Went Dirty

The days the clouds went dirty gray,

The sunshine packed and ran away.

The trees stood still, the birds took flight,

As morning looked more like the night.

The wind grew strong, the air was thick,

The sky turned heavy, dark, and sick.

No golden beams, no friendly glow,

Just restless shadows down below.

The streets lay quiet, dull, and cold,

Like stories lost and left untold.

The rain tapped softly at the pane,

Then drummed against it once again.

The rivers swelled, the flowers bent,

The branches groaned with discontent.

The world seemed trapped in dirty gray,

As if the light had slipped away.

But deep behind that sooty veil,

Beyond the mist, beyond the gale,

The sun still burned, the blue still shone,

Though hidden now, it wasn’t gone.

Then one bright morning, crisp and new,

The sky returned in clearer blue.

The air was fresh, the storm had passed,

And light had found its way at last.

No storm can claim the endless sky,

No darkness lingers when winds die.

The clouds may come, the clouds may go,

But light remaines, it’s what we need