The fields of gray,
Have the sent of ash,
A sky of black,
Grass of pouder,
And, a tree of red,
Standing in the middle of the field,
With a dull light radiating off it,
With pink leaves falling off into the wind,
Its a depressing sight to many onlookers,
But not to me,
To me, it's a sight that fills me with hope,
Hope that can outshine even the grayest of times.