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Today, I have no sense of wonder.
The grey sky is only a
grey sky.
The bare empty buttonwood branches
are only bare and empty
branches
bending in November's freezing winds.
I have seen too many empty
nights,
too many grey and chilly mornings.
Too many times cold November
winds
have snapped branches from buttonwood trees.
Too many times grey
clouds have covered
the sky, hiding the morning sunrise.
Too many times
the cold wind has numbed
my face, and sliced through my thread-bare
coat.
I am so weary of this grey month,
downcast, with no impulse to
wonder.
