The Grimace the rain holds
Mixed with the fear and grief
Swept in like a blizzard
Quelching any hint of green hope.
The world has shut its doors.
With rabid solace
And fatigue of the unknown
pangs of misery held inside.
Like a empty unknown glass bottle.
Reflecting the good of the world.
Yet holding the power to conquer
even the strongest.
Rabid solace like the coals of a fire
Erupting in dead sparks.
Save the dirt below.
Like a London novel.
The grace of the snow sweeps any pleasantry of landscape into white.
A walking cane will not help.