Triple H

The rippling and fetid air
clings to me like a lead shroud
whose burning aura so impairs
it would do a horseman proud.


The dark clouds of the morning
break for a sunny afternoon
that hides behind the raindrops
which herald the evening gloom.

There’s a fickle fancy
that’s blowing on the breeze
who warms our tired, weary bones
only to let them freeze.