Dead Fag-Ends In The Snow
A shallow coat and no hat
To fight the bitter weather,
I trudge out into the pale dark,
Numb to the cold,
The morning dew hampered by the snow,
And no song from the morning lark.
Three I count, dead fag-ends in the snow,
Smouldered blackened deaths,
Their shattered ash stains the shimmering white,
Mere smears across the snow.
Then I see through a squinted eye,
One alive, still smoking across my beleaguered sight.
I watch it struggle for life a while, then walk away.
I know it will lose, but I cannot watch.