A mid-winter morning;
The sky a uniform grey:
Everything sodden; Puddles aplenty;
Me, up to my eyes in debt and struggling;
My youngest daughter in hospital,
Recovering from an overdose;
But it’s cool, not cold,
And the rain has stopped.
One or two birds are singing.
Green Daffodil spears pierce the leaf mould.
On a nearby branch, a dove woos his lover.
My debt management plan is all but in place.
My little girl is loved. She will be okay.
That other little girl, my Grand-daughter,
Considers my question;
“What colour is the sky?”
Her eyes flick to a tiny rent overhead
And she replies unhesitatingly,
“Blue!”
I think so too.