A February Afternoon

I know it isn't fair to blame the sky
For this, this melancholy. I have
Bills too large to pay, and aches
From long and pointless labor.
Winter lingers, with its cold.
The ground is muddy, dusted
With another layer of unwanted
Snow, and no one hears me mutter.
Little's in the whiskey jug, and,
When I read, the poets, lesser
Poets, leave me wondering,
Does even one have much to
Say? Do I? The sky, for days,
So dreary, seems to answer,
"No one does," and, if the clouds
Would dissipate, would melancholy?
Maybe not, and, what, then,
Would I blame?



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 15 times
Written on 2013-02-15 at 21:40

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