Winter Rain

J.B. Toner
A sad grey dawning, this; a sad grey cloud
  Bemists the morning’s eye with doleful mirk;
And under dreary treetops’ drizzling shroud,
  Bedraggled crows in lonely murders lurk.
The whiskey's all but spent, the wine is lost;
  The beer-fen on the bare cold floorboards molders;
The fridge holds half a jar of apple-sauce;
  The last butt in the brimming ashtray smolders.
My love is gone. My love is gone. Dear Christ,
  What mortal words are worse? My love is gone.
What burden would I not have borne, what price,
  Before I saw this bleak December dawn?
The gelid sky pours out its ancient tears—
The grim detritus of a dying year.