It crackled with a snapping, cracking sound
the bin men refused to come this day
due to the high hills, along the way
“what is the point in it” they say
“the rats are frozen anyway”
instead they chose to grit the roads
except my cul de sac; it is forbode
too far away from anywhere that matters
close knit houses with lots of chatters
cars on drives; snow turns to ice
not home for a day but twa or thrice
No comments:
Post a Comment