Salty spray ever dripping, the months of winter merge
Black tarmac usually so robust,
Pressured by evil winds of middle earth
Boring similarity where days glide by
Watched with pale faces in despair
Wet weather conditions fail the promise of new life
Flooding events, desperate for relief wash over
Where bright, white snow might be welcome
Yet, still the greasy mud clogs our footpaths
Making any sort of walking a physical impracticality
The greyness clouding our windows
Encourages little incentive to explore outside
Spring flowers resting within their bud in the cold earth
Reluctant and selfish to break through sodden mud
Before they come and surprise us with welcome colour
Giving respite within this desperate monochrome landscape.