Outside the window,
The wind blew, driving the snow,
In the morning light.
So soon it was gone,
Just wet ground to testify,
Something had happened.
Like a bloody corpse,
And blood stains on the pavement,
But here just wet ground.
The photo was blurred,
The evidence was dismissed,
And the snow was gone.
Well, this is Friday,
A day unlike the others,
Holding such promise.
A telephone call,
Followed by a buzz-buzz text,
Of a message left.
Well, it’s time to go,
Close the door and close the book,
And turn the light off.
