Let us not forget
This winter of our discontent;
Withered leaves
Paving the streets,
Strewn across where
Once hope resided,
Born of the same fiery desire
That gave us our
Most precious treasure.
Gone now,
The winds of change swept
Through to fell those
Dying leaves off their branches;
They brought with them
Unfulfilled promises,
Broken dreams,
Burying hope in a
Mountain of decaying leaves.
Let us not forget
This winter of our discontent;
Its cold embrace
On the skeletal remains
Of nature, squeezing
The life out of that
Which hibernated not,
Buried, like hope, overcome
By the cold’s deathly touch.
It has lingered, this winter,
Not heeding spring’s
Feeble calls
For decades now.
Spring has long stopped
Calling, gone has summer too –
All we have, on an endless loop is
This, our winter of discontent,
Now and forever after.
