Dreary Days Poem by David Welch

Dreary day, dreary day,
the gray hangs thick and deep;
why is it on dreary days
that I just want to sleep?

The rain's coming steady,
rolls off of the roof steep,
fills the gutters high enough
that you could float a fleet,
drips off pine-green needles
so that the branches weep,
slicks the kitchen garden
and small herbs we shall reap,
annoys those out walking,
soaking shoes, socks, and feet,
driving most of them inside
for a dry place to meet,
but, alas, I work at home,
and though I'm feeling beat,
I get up and do the job…
There are contracts to keep.

Dreary day, dreary day,
the gray hangs thick and deep...
why is it these dreary days
just make me want to sleep?