The Sky Was Grey Poem by Emma Atkinson

The sky is grey,
As am I this very day;
It weeps, but I do not.

The sun hides,
While I sit besides
My window, lost in thought.

The mist hangs thick about the trees,
And I grow rich with swift unease
Over things that I forgot.

The tea grows cold
While hours unfold,
Growing old with the mildew and rot.

The stars don't shine,
But I don't mind.
That seems to happen a lot.

Only yesterday
The sky was grey,
And with it I wept not.