Gloom looms before my time
the weight of regrets, my only pilgrims
a dreary thought, and the raven hoots louder
could it be all winter long.
I sit on the pier, nothing there
except the unturned stones of thoughts
so i ask for dear time to stretch the ticks
to get things done triple ways, more ways.
Waters have long memories
keeping tab of what I had not done
to pump my days, to harvest the riches I can make.
Now the raven glares, but, I am content with being simple.