The Grey Lady

She lifts her head at dawns first sigh and shrugs aside the sun,
And thrusts her tangled locks on high to where the winds still run,
With towering black and roiling shapes to make her presence known,
Where mortals stare at fading light to watch her coming shown,
She shakes her tresses free to where the wind will let them fly,
And spreads her arms and shakes her cloak to shroud with grey the sky.

The surging wind her ally now lifts high her dresses hue,
To fill horizons side to side to where the widest view,
Shows naught but drabness to the eye with only grey in sight,
And mortal man can only hide beneath the ladies might,
As she stares down with brimming eyes at landmarks speeding by,
With tears that spill and overflow as she begins to cry.

To scatter moisture far and wide to fall in showers vast,
Drenching field and tree alike as she goes speeding past,
Her trailing hems and soaking skirts press down over sodden ground,
To test the strength of those outside where no shelters found,
Where walkers caught out by her force can only curse and fret,
To speed their pace and bowing heads shield faces from the wet,

Then spent at last with drying eyes she lets the wind hold sway,
To let her garments thin and dry and speed her on her way,
The sun now stronger pours out light to weaken down her hue,
And shafts like arrows tear and rend to pierce her greyness through,
Then diffused to where she holds no form she whirls and fades away,
To bide her time to bring more rain, but on another day.