The canal today is mirror deep,
Reflecting all the trees that weep.
The grass is fridge frost white,
From the cold of last night.
The trees are dripping snot clear tears,
Sparkling in the sunshine glare.
An empty ***** bottle on the side of the road,
In the distance shines Morse code.
The houses in sharp relief,
Like stricken ships on a reef.
On this winter morning all fears,
Are lost like unwanted souvenirs.