Snow,
deep and white
fell
sometime
in the night, but
I was alright
snug in bed.

Under the snow lies the world that I know,
the ***** and grubby
and yet it still snubs me,
I don't want the snow to go.

Under Waterloo Bridge,
another shelf in the fridge, a cruel World for some
where the Sun doesn't shine and it's cold all the time
designed to be beat
dead on their feet
a bed on cement
backs bent by the day
lay the broken and cracked.
A fact of society.

Snow came as a blessing,
one more white dressing for
the ulcerated trunks of
incapable drunks.
Do you see them?
the jetsam
do they worry you?
they will if you let them.

I bet some of them had lives
children and wives,
washed out in the flow now
thoughts  covered in snow now
and it's cold outside.