Today
-- is all gray
--and though I fling paint
up at the sky,
it falls pitifully back down,
and somehow the scarlet
that seems so cheerful in the sky
is not so cheerful in the face.
Today I sang amazing grace
(the sound was sickly sweet);
the irony so thick I gagged,
I watched your love retreat.
But it's no use watching,
and so, eyes glued heavenward,
the paint keeps flying.
Could any day be more brilliant?