In Fields of Gray

In fields of gray,
and washed out rose.
Beneath a sky,
in eternal repose.

Oposit a rainbow,
it's edges torn.
Beside a bramble
full of thorns.

While set against
a horizon, worn;
And laid across
a brook so forlorn.

Is a precious place
imprinted deep,
On wooden planking;
were he sat to weep.

While he watched
the little boat drift.
So far away
His last loving gift.

Carved from a branch,
leaf for a sail.
It bobbed down stream,
green foam its tail.

The lady fair
he had dressed in mose.
Her fragile wings
still helled high aloft.

With her went his worlds,
color and life.
His soul skipped a beat
at this, his first strife.