Gray

Oh glorious sun, so shamelessly bright
Where do you hide on mornings so stark,
so dreary and gray?

I would be off to find you, 
but for all I have to do

You must be up to something 
where'er it is you are… 
Resting, or playing amongst other stars?

It's summertime, I guess you know 
Or did you forget your finest hour of splendor?

Perhaps you're weary of hearing us curse the blistery hot afternoons,
the May’s, July’s, and June’s