Buried deep, in steppes of rain,
the springtime showers never name
where flightless bird give way to ground
whose loss of life is never found.
Yet, we swallow, whole and real
the thickness of the snots that fill
each swollen nose, and blistered tongue
and dying airs that wilt the lung
Of all you held so close and dear
not through love, but out of fear.
'Cause anxious gust and baleful wind
dance beneath our feet again.
So gray across the skies we stand
with falling birds that never land
with drifting sail and misty frill
we the clouds, forever spill.
Springtime showers which never fame
the buried deeper steppes of rain
