Grey are these eyes which stare into the distance,
A dark iron grey of somber luminance.
Not shining azure, as the earth's vaulted ceiling,
But grey as the dark thunderheads which weep in their dark melancholy.
Grey as the pelt of the lone timber wolf which howls in solitude.
Grey as the steel of a knight's trusted blade which deals death on command.
Grey as the line 'twixt all that's divine and all which is born of flames.
Grey as the ash tree which under the roots, the Norns do contemplate.
Grey is the color of dead sailors' scattered remains adrift
at sea.
Grey is the ocean which thrashes in rage at Neptune's mighty hand,
Grey is the hand now withered with growing age or leprosy.
Grey is the man whose eyes have died who soon will meet the end.
Blue is the color of light airy passion and thoughts of glorious
day.
But as are the eyes of wise Athena, my shadowed orbs are grey.
George Chadderdon © 1991