I Am Weary

I am weary
like the vast prairie at harvest time
who’s golden hues are dulled
by dense,  grey clouds, so low 
it seem as if they’re riding on my head.

Weary
like a heavy, monotonous rain
on an afternoon too dark for the time of day
where the sun can’t penetrate 
and nothing ever seems to change.

Weary 
like sodden leaves spread thick
across the darkened forest floor,
all their gold and orange glory
traded for a dull and dismal brown.

So weary
like the fog that hangs impervious
over dark and somber water
of some forgotten port beside the sea
where the drone of tugboats echo lonesomely


january 2005
©Janet Reid