Dreary is the morning: I am offered nothing br but slashing winds, and endless waves of rain. br Peeling back the curtains confronted with br a grey spillage of sky, Gods lost paint pot br thrown out into the weary blue. br Lost drops of rain slide down the pane br hanging with hope from the ledge, br Before dripping into oblivion. br The floor under bare feet is cold, unwelcoming, endless. br Shivering and shuddering, shaking of br the dusty leftovers of sleep br we seek solace in the boiling kettle, br The stream that clears the sleep from our eyes. br br Awakening the senses with bitter gulps of brown. br Warming slightly we return our attentions to the br outside. Soggy clothes sodden, blowing in the wind. br Headless bodies hanging. br Puddles emerge, then merge into garden lagoons. br Flies fly in a frenzy, seeking shelter bouncing from br my windows, as the birds chirp from their snug br little nest. Trees bend and bow- a defeated dance. br br br Open the door scowl at the world br Moan about the wetness of the lukewarm milk bottle br scrape the rain splattered paper from the porch br floor, thanking christ it's the end of the world.