all meaner things

nothing remains that's either clear or plain
the law of life is one that makes us weep
hope comes and goes like rapid summer rain

a sudden breeze opens shut doors again
the hill we climb is neither high nor steep
nothing remains that's either clear or plain

a measure now of healing comes with pain
we let the blood and ichor slowly seep
while hoping madly for the long dark sleep
nothing remains that's either clear or plain