Under the slate-white sky
Rotting brown leaves and
Twisted black cables,
The garish cars pass and spray water.
No one is on the many-chipped road
On the metal bridge over the foul stream
Which ran last summer
Bright green.
Where is the sun in our life
Is it so busy playing that
It is lost behind the clouds?
And what light we may have ,
The gray and discouraging twilight
In early afternoon.
