SAD (Poetry)

November — and a thinly-drizzled mist
presses at the glass.
No wind — the morning’s heavy grey folds hang
still — let nothing pass.
No sign of sun — what little light there is
dimmed and damp today.
No chirping birds — trees wide as empty beds —
covers stripped away.

No energy — the cold spent earth at rest —
retired from action.
No break in all that gloomy cloud above
to spark reaction.
No reason therefore to go out the door —
the world looks weary.
No welcome in its old indifferent face —
unfocused — bleary.

No people busy in the puddled street
where leaves heap soggy.
No dogs or children rioting around
or mooching moggy.
No inspiration flowers — it’s too dark
and too depressing.
No use in planting words that cannot grow
without sun’s blessing.