The Appropriate End
Somewhere along the line, in the snow,
Along the eaves and behind the powder covered fences
An indeterminable howl
Reached his ears,
Wrenched his privileged heart,
And rendered him clueless for a moment.
The sun was hidden. The moon wouldn´t play.
In the eventful chance some news would arrive, it would not be good.
Our inconsiderate time takes all the laughter away, hope
Flies on as well.
We needn´t consider how pathetic we´ve become,
It´s all there, written in the snow;
Obtuse save for a few scratches, bird-like, pointing us to an
Appropriate end.


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