Why write love letters,
why write love letters in November?
As fading ghosts to blow an ember.
Why face the rain,
Why face the rain in sudden shiver?
As if looking for one lost forever?
I just don't know.
It's all cold now, blowing strong.
The murmurs of rattling windows forewarn
a suffocating grey wetness reaching out through the treeline
to bang on shutters and howl at doors.
Again too sick for December's creep.