Pulchritude

Today has vowed
a sky of cloud;
a frivolous shroud:
no daylight,
or joy,
or beauty allowed.

Much of the day
has wasted away
in such a way,
the birds,
the people,
have nothing to say.

The air breathes fire;
a fair to admire.
Amidst winter choir,
the sun,
its warmth,
seek to conspire.

Warm and earthy tones
sound to muted drones.
As the gray blanket groans,
the grass,
the trees
are as useless as bones.

In this deathly space,
her smile lights up her face.
She shines with brilliant grace.
Her life
brings hope
for a beautiful place.