The day turns gray

as the clouds roll in,

They all see it to be a beginning,

a storm arising, some new destruction afoot.

To weather the storm they can hide or run

Still, some stand firm, stubborn or brave.

As the storm passes, the hidden arise.

The stoic exhausted, jobs be done.

The measure of human is not in the word

but the act, that may even seem absurd

for the stubborn who firmly stood through the storm

though injured and weary, had just saved the farm.

The hidden did praise the ones they scorned;

fools, who did what had to be done,

while the privileged just cooed.