Lost Colors Found

The girl could not have seen her sorrow loss.

She could not see the small white blooms,

Just o’er the hilltop where they lay.

She could not hear the chirp of swallows lone

Whose pasts had been cast far away;

She could not dream of clouds up high,

The way they swung back-forth in winds of May.

Only saw the dark of night beneath them,

Only heard the loathing violence of the pouring rain, 

Battering, erasing a forgotten hillside.

Till she saw a light, a hallelujah,

And the lovely meadow after it passed through.

Then everything would step to a battered drum,

The sunlight and the weeds flow as one;

And happiness would glow out vast a hearth.

But she never quite seemed to grasp that way.

She never saw what they saw that May:

The sorrow left behind in those old fields of grey.