A gray day is a hard one to use well:
It wants to slip away, and all be wasted.
Waking up is a much harder sell
On such a day - there are no joys untasted,
Just dreary flatness stretching end to end
Slopping about within an uncast day.
It's days like this that send you round the bend
In their too-dismal and destructive way.
But some of them are purposefully dull:
Days of regeneration. It can be
Quite difficult to positively cull
Those from the others which, more boringly
Drip into life. But why discriminate?
Make them all such, and then embrace your fate.
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