The Days of Our Discontent

The days of our discontent The rain had fallen sharply and heavy flooding roads fields had become lakes, and cars looked like toys thrown away by an unrestrained boy child. From the inside looking out, the sea is calm and subdued by the cold that makes the sun as ineffective as yesterday’s horseshoe on a smithy’s floor. The forecast is more rain, just as well, the water reservoirs are after a long rainless period, almost empty, should tells us o that future wars will be about water, not oi The wind that blew brought Sahara’s sits on the window sill yet it is better to swallow gritty sand than smell cordite from an unjust war that thaws the ice on the ground. Our hears ran over in sympathy for those who fled the war we opened our homes and wallets and nailed their banner on our masts and proudly displayed our love. As the ghost of inflation sat in, our goodwill struggled rigidly wallets are empty as a market trader’s leather pouch their banner no longer hangs on flag posts; we are tired.