LXXI

It rises slowly, tired and worn,
And drags its carcass out of night:
A sun that sheds a tepid light
Upon the asphalt roads at dawn.

Day, when I leave my sweated bed
And cruelly goad my dormant moods.
The grey on the horizon feuds
With bleeding streaks of gold and red.

The grey prevails and brings in tow
A dull parade of drizzling rain.
This arid, sunless, drenched domain
Is all there is and all I know.