“. . . that a child may write them.” —Isaiah 10:19
Lighting on my heavy heart,
the rain is come; and soft and drab
the colours are that damp my soul
and lighten now my heavy load.
They bring not gladness to my breast,
but ’round me, the air’s a brighter grey.
The troubles which had cracked my flesh,
with dampness seem to matter less.
The sly, heavy feeling that floats the fog about
wafts me on, and sorrow’s no more pain to count.
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