50. The Tiniest Things of the World

I stood outside and looked up to the sky

And wondered how the sun could care to shine.

I’d lately thought that I should want to die

And I forgot the world’s views were not mine.

The loathsome clouds that floated overhead

On something like paper-stain of blue –

The gently grating warmth the sunlight shed –

Their arguable virtues on me grew.

These things weren’t quite so awful on their own.

The backdrop of the world was not my strife.

In fact, these things were, taken on their own,

The few redeeming factors of this life.

It’s odd, to think – the glory of a day

And I should wish to make it go away.