Melancholic Ministrations
Someday was yesterday,the dreams have all gone,they’ve flitted awaysomewhere windy and warm.We’ve gathered their remnants,in ancient pine boxes,free of the rain and the storm. The snow has begun,the frost has bespokea shimmering lace,to weal for the roke.They’ve tilled up the soil,with rust on the plow,free of the thoughtsthey evoke. Tamarind honey,sweet spices and hue,a plump little mushroomis dusted with dew.The loam in the cave,that was fertile with hope,now silently suffocatesunder the slope. The twilight now beckons,from dawn until dusk,cry vultures…