Untitled

Stumbling blindly through the mist
I realised that the firs were weeping.
Silence reigned for a brief interlude. 
Silky nets caught the sky's fish
That glistened limply in the grey light.
The sun peeked vaguely through the dismal curtains
At the scrawny figures undressing 
For the dark night of WInter
As they tossed their garments
Of burnished brown and red
Carelessly to the cold callous tar below
Where I spied an empty shell.
A broken bird nestled 
With wings askew.
How I longed that I could fly...