Dazed in the twilight. I see the mayfly fly. Clustering 'round streetlamps of a small town. Rush around, around. Flicker to the ground like snow.... Or the embers of a drowsy fire in cinders.
The grey of winter falls on us -. How will our garden grow ?. Will all the seeds we've sown. Survive beneath the snow ?. We've been here before,. Wrapped in our regret..