Wounds and Weather...
The snow came late,
The rain came early.
Now ribs of earth
through white of snowy winter breast,
An oozing open wound.
Brown is not a healthy color for such deep cuts,
It speaks of rot;
Gangrene the color of last year's grass.
Flakes fall again
promising to patch old wounds and
Stop the weeping.
That's just me, peering out my window and getting random...