“Gray the day, but green, oh, green
Yes green so green the hummocked grasses.
Bent by sea-wound,seaweed-scented
Wind, the tufts of iris lean,”
"Nearing the summit I paused,
sucking in sweet, thin air;
worries of continuing caused
ponderings whether I dare---
Turning back seemed to be wise."
"The gray unfurls from sky to bay;
A chill, wet, northeast wind, the least
Disturbing aspect of the day,
Has veered toward the hazy east;
The ocean's surface of low swells
Is restless, crinkled by a slow
Incessant chop. The gray foretells
No certainty. But yet I know
The rain will stop, and times at least
To me more pleasant, will return;"
"Mother planted morning glories. The vines
Climbed up along the thin white strings
She anchored in the narrow beds that lined
The farmhouse porch. I happily recall
The twisting vines with thousand cheerful blooms
Bright blue against the old white stucco walls
That fastened German-speaking families well
To soil, with flowers inside in the rooms."
"The sea’s a strange mosaic of varying shades
Of patterned grays, extending out to where
It meets a sky of hazy gauzelike grays,
Softer than the sea’s glazed surface. There,
As tiny, darker spots, eight eider lie
Quietly, on the slowly rolling sea;
The chicks remain within their mothers' view.
The males are floating by themselves;"