Bereft

And ever above, clouds of sorrow assemble in thunderous ranks: a surfeit of threat and gloom. And ever below, unhappy footsteps surrender rhythm to unyielding pavement— against a gray and endless plain. Who but a fool dreams that sorrow can be bartered for kindness and love? The beggared soul abides. And, in his eyes, the ashen world grows, blurs and overflows to run down his cheeks. And it rains.