When outside skies are grey,
All the colors washed away,
Trees once green, now are dulled,
Seas once warm, now dead and cold.
The sky painted a murky white,
No moon, a truly starless night,
Everything smothered in a thick, white cloud,
Only one fleck of color stands out proud.
A deep, red rose blossoms late,
On thorny stem, it stands up straight
It's scarlet, curling petals
rising above the ugly nettles.
So when skies are colorless grey,
And all the color's rinsed away,
Don't lose hope, for there might be,
A tiny fleck of color, you can't see.