wet sunday morning

once past the dark the bronze and gold hold sway

in this half-light the kingdom of the rain

what we name silver is a brighter grey

no one is certain on this sort of day

but would not venture to speak nor complain

once past the dark the bronze and gold hold sway

there are no shadows that is what we say

in the damp woods the leaf-mould leaves its stain

what we name silver is a brighter grey

with its cold hand the passing storm will slay

dry heat of summer and tie winter's chain

once past the dark the bronze and gold h old sway

beneath loose dirt is nothing but hard clay

red as the rust that wants to claim its reign

what we name silver is a brighter grey

it is no use to shout or disobey

the dull commands of human body's pain

once past the dark the bronze and gold hold sway

what we name silver is a brighter grey