I have been one who's apt to see the cloud
In front of that relentless silver line,
To sift and weigh the likelihood of shroud

While others tend to hold onto a sign
Of life, of possibility, of good.
I shake my head and wonder where they find

Their certainty that somehow, something could
Shake free the frozen heart, repair the break,
Prop up the fallen soul to where it stood.

Then I, well, I just shrug and hope their stake
Comes true, that naysayers like me are wowed.

But even while I'm rooting for that crowd,
I have been one who's apt to see the cloud.