Tuesday, August 25, 2015


All wonder ebbs away on summers fading
Rolling gloom runs across every vista
Shrinking days, constrict on moisture
The short hope of warmth almost spent
Retreating on seas of ceaseless inclemency
And I see no friendly ships on the horizon
We have not one harbour to shelter within
No place to weigh anchors to buoy the sun
And yet from out the waspish verdanture
Flexes such a mighty growth to the heavens
To reach it not; though it climbs valiantly
And would sting the very sky if it could
Pierce these long, grey washes haunting us
A wet ghoul without; and in the soul within