She always dressed
In the saddest shades
Of gray upon darker
gray;
She only felt comfortable
In gray,
Sleepy and paralytic,

Scanning her life through
Black, white and the gray
Photographs
Of Marilyn,
Of Charlie,
Of John,
Of Paul,
Of George, and
The other one.

She kept her smile well hide
Under her gray scarf.
She, the gray coquelicot
Who bloomed in the arboretum,
Where the roses were gray,
And the violets too,
She felt at home and sweet.

-Jamie F. Nugent