weathering the storm

Grey days
wearing on and on
never seeming to end.
The skies are hungover
as though recovering
from a week long party.
It’s hard to tell
the night form the day.
It must be time for bed,
the lights are going out all over the city.
Now I can sleep . . . .

At last! Glorious, heavenly sunshine!
The world has come back to life!
No more shuffling,
people are moving briskly
as though happy to be alive.
The world is not dead.
We have weathered the storm.