Dregs of winter

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