Finding Days

The dull gray walls towered again,
Blocking the green, the path, the friend,
With their mechanical, complex,
Confusing face of forms to vex.
And the man sat among the gray,
Letting it numb him far away
From the green days, which soon had fled
To their own youthful flowered bed –
Those days with hues like jesters’ caps,
That clustered lost on useless maps,
Those days that had once seemed much more,
Evaporated ere they poured.
“But this is how it is,” he said,
Glancing back at days once led,
Absentmindedly at first,
Until he was caught by a verse –
A verse of the days lost and gone,
A verse of the days trudged upon,
A verse that was but silly too,
Yet still that froze him, old and new.
And he felt the verse catch those days,
And lift them in its secret ways,
So that he saw them between walls,
And between gray – this green that calls.
He had noticed it not before –
These past notes, how they made the score,
But now he did, and now the dull,
Gray barriers bowed for a spell.
The wind blew him then, with deep air
Newly freed in soaring care,
And the man looked, so he could see
The landscape saved for him to be.

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