Hello, my stormed out songbird.
In the grey halo of a power outage.
The darkness has blues and tinges
of tender outings within it.

The whirs of mechanisms and technology suddenly stopped.
The air crisp in our lungs and not scared of Legionnaires.

Autumn has begun and it is upon us.
On every cold shoulder of forgotten friend,
a penny underneath an old shoe.
Whose tread is worn thinner by the year's end.

Who are you, my songbird?
Where have your gay chirps gone?
Sing something fresh for me in the light.
The grey halos of the storm need song.