When I go outdoors, it is always cloudy.
They tell me that I am wrong, it is a sunny day!
The Sun is warm and comforting and gay
In that old straight sense of the comic word
But all I see are clouds, intensely grey
And so I shyly pray to the Almighty Lord
And stuttering I beg, and plea, and say:
Please let me see what they all can see
That cheerful Sun
Please give me back my dear, my beloved son
He doesn’t answer, His silence is benign
He knows that all too well
Theirs is the Sun above but all the clouds are mine.
Roobit's Poetry Burrow 