Gray

“Is gray a color?” the pigeon asked the clouds. “We’re not sure,” said the clouds, then asked, “Why?” The pigeon shrugged and said, “See the robin, brown and red?” “And the yellow finch flying by?” “Such color and beauty they have, to me,” “And I am but gray and drab instead.” “Is gray a color?” the clouds asked themselves, And watched the pigeon fly, They thought about the question again, And said, “We don’t know, but you should ask the sky.” So the pigeon asked the sky. The sky looked down at the robin and the finch, Then looked down at the ground, Saw the grass, the earth, the buildings, And was surprised at what he found. “I see many things,” said the sky, “Blues and browns, reds and greens, Blacks and whites, too. And grays, Just like you.” “And I think,” said the sky, “who am I to decide What is a color, and what is not? Sometimes I am white, and sometimes, blue And sometimes black, or even silver, like you. So if all of these things are colors, Why not gray, too?” And the clouds listened very carefully, Because the clouds needed the answer, too.