THIS GRAY AND LONELY SHORE

A rumbling broke my mindless muse
As patting rain, profound with clues,
Foretold a day
Of forlorn gray
Which left my attitude to choose.

Shall I succumb, my spirit bright,
To this interloper of the night
That chills all things
With booming rings
Or calmly face it with delight?

What’s this, A knock upon my door?
But as I trudge across the floor,
In low whisper
would deter
This storm’s envoy of ghostly lore.

I pear into the haunting  morn
So serenaded by the storm
But no one’s there
And so I stare
As tiny voices beg to warn,
Ill winds may bring a guest of harm.

Is it just the atmosphere,
Just the storm that trembles near
In thoughts so wild
And so beguiled
By the horror of this knocking fear?

With cup of coffee, I might feel
This whole circumstance unreal.
It might fade
Beneath the shade
Of solace that might then congeal.

But still the drip, drip, dripping rain
Upon each naked window pane,
I must confess,
No more nor less,
All reasoning is quite in vain
For it has driven me insane.

All this and nothing more
Upon this gray and lonely shore.

~Robert E Browne~

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