A swing,
Coated in charcoal gloss,
Swaying in the gentle afternoon breeze,
Seems more than I deserve.

For, though surrounded by a scene of peace,
And the epitome of serenity,
Chaos ensues.

Though the sky is speckled with tufts of cotton,
Dark storms rage on.

Eyes once bright and shining,
Now dull and cloudy.
Through ivory,
Dark, tired purple appears.

A mind,
Surrounded by smiling faces,
And sunny days,
And full hearts,
And glad tidings,
Is tired.

It can see nothing but gray.