Through the bare branches
The morning cried
Cloaked, in fine tailored grey

Swaying to the song
Of crows and foghorns
The sparring melodies
Of grief

The sly mist
Crept inside my skull
With the first stream of wind
I joyfully reaped

My inner world turned
Engulfed, by shades of gloom
And I trembled fearful
As I cleaved, the greater grim world

A chill claimed my spine
And my nerves went dull
Frostbitten and uncaring
With each hour
I left forgotten