Gray angels float amongst the weeds,
they’ve risen to set the mood for us.
Though amongst cracked sidewalks daisies grow,
they will sing today their somber chorus.

Their march will lead them to the lake,
the wrens already've stayed their song.
dry and dusty bowl it has become,
the tears of white angels have been too long.

Perched on frames of skeletal past,
finches whisper to one another,
“I s’pose we’re better now than before,
seems they’ve gone and offed each other.”
Take flight to join gray angels’ rise,
an ascent to flee the same demise.

Now Sun awakes each morning new,
to look out upon earth’s withered view.

Her gaze afire in spiteful grace,
She’s lastly rid of the human race.