Gray Rain

Gray rain in the morning falls; Upon the sills the droplets rest; Each drop is hung, a moment caught; Each moment holds a fragment blessed. We shall reclaim these lost hours, dear; A symphony of the again will strike Into the stillness of the drenched ground — While warm nature finds her way to praise; And this gray rain shall rise again, To drink from the floors beneath our feet, Where the sorrows grow undisturbed, Laughing like dew on rose petals named love.

• Sidney Keyes