A serene snow-covered landscape
best reveals the muck of humanity
What was once white fluffy layers
of impossibly-delicate crocheted doilies
is now the dark slush of industrial trampling
Three black crows sat on the battered road
and I wished that only the trails of horse hooves
and thin wooden wheels had made their mark
upon the ancient, heavenly, and pure
talents of water
But, all is temporary
and purity exists in mere moments
if at all
Without the corruption of darkness
and the melting mess of grey before us
spring would never come