Compare what joy is found in fairer days,
in sunlit climes and sunlit blaze,
with dreary darkened skies
from which rain flies.
The cold,
I’m told,
is worse, by far.
Yet from within a car,
I gazed out at a bitter storm
and with a start beheld a graceful form.
‘Twas there, against dark heaven, arches rose,
and none I’ve seen grander than those.
Compare with summer days
the way light plays
when gloom
and doom
seek to impose
on life their bitter woes.
The good, much clearer, sharper felt,
is better known when you’ve in darkness dwelt.
Tale Told 