Gray Miller (a poem)

Arthur Miller was gray.

There’s no better way

To describe this bitter

Low ball hitter

Who had so little to say.


Words brought him fame.

Fawners bowed at his name,

But his writings were dull

Attempts to cull

Grime  from hollow depths.  We have to blame


“Attention must be paid”

On some angst mislaid

By a clouded mind

Which couldn’t find

Joy in the shallow scribblings he made.


Gold is the color of each dawning day.

Gloom and resentment are always gray.


Mimi Evans Winship