Oft is it compared, a sky of gray, and a day of drear.
It is with these muted colors that bring me the utmost of joys.
Perhaps it is your ashen qualities spawning somber, sullen feelings.
I repent, for this most assuredly won’t be made about you.
On the loose:

The life of a snowflake,
A wintered rain,
Frozen tentacles of a symmetrical dream,
Gone with the wind,
Heaven, fallen to earth.
Perhaps it is that I wish the sky to be falling
unto me
in a star-stricken
phantasy.