Stone Grey

the days are washed in stoney grey
the rain spills out in maddness
the weathered hills raise up once more
pronounce the coming of spring

sweet blue bird up top the ol' pine tree
looked down from her mighty long gaze
and kiss the petals on the tulips wake
and blow winter away

yet still the chill lies thick as ash
not yet a rashful sky
alined with stars of the bewitching hour
to turn the world's clock back once more

not time, to wake, not for the day
sleep my somber rose
until the dew has fallen new than up you'll raise full bloom

and yet it rains, the maddness substaings
while yet the hills roll downward
shake off the frost, bury they lost
behind the days that are washed in stone grey.