The Empty Ditch of January

slightly revised rerun from a year ago

photo by potter, last year the same as this year

The empty ditch of January
That borders December's leaf-strewn yard
Reflects no sunrise in the weary
Repetition falling hard
Upon El Niño's muddy, boggy,
Repeated grayness wet and soggy,
Depression's weather's discontent
For when the year's already spent
Just as it's only just beginning,
When we collapse onto the couch
Of hibernation where we slouch
And drink until the room starts spinning,
So morning turns to night and fades
To black, no need to draw the shades.

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Note: You might notice that the above is a specimen of a peculiar form known as an Onegin stanza or Pushkin sonnet. I’ve written a few others, some of which you can find here.

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