No familiar horizon.
No Sun to acknowledge.
No blue, for clouds to saunter across.
Sky and land,have merged,
into a single,unwelcome,
This old man of season's morning,
brimming my sight
with a grieving sense of closure,
glare's at me,cruelly,beautifully,
with glittering glint's of dominance.
How bitterly,we oppose each other!
And,much,must I try
to eradicate him from my thoughts
using the foolishness of a foul tongue,
heavily laden,with profaneness
Although the attempt,
to shun his unstoppable rhetoric
of falling temperature's is futile,
I am warmed,by the value
of trusted reliance's on
the resurrected child of Spring,
coming wilfully,spritely,to prepare
a youthful green stage,for the golden player's of Summer.
Until their hazey shimmering's air dance once more,
I remain,chillingly burdened.
For,who am I ,in my smallness
pointlessly seeking,to rid the present,
of this year ending,iced majority?
O! that pathetic aggravating gesture!
twould be less than a mere pinpoint,
of annoying insignificance
against the supremacy
of so gigantesque,a misery!