Upon the dew,
on January’s morning,
familiar sight,
is cloudy warning,
thus, those goloshes
are old friends,
as I go trapsing,
through the fens,
it may be cold,
but heart is warm,
as I stumble,
on the farm,
where sloppy kisses,
come from cows,
to paint some joy,
on my brow,
as it rains,
I taunt the sky,
I’m not alone,
we wonder why?
Of prolonging,
this brown bath,
that drowns the crops,
and drenches path,
but when I see,
the deeds unfold,
I see mankind,
being bold,
so, mocking question,
turns to action,
challenging Gaia,
our great faction,
for we maintain,
and we do make,
to try to be,
when we do wake,
for we are us,
we make the day,
our nerve,
to smile, in the grey.