Late Frost
Surprised by the renegade day
you had expected the temperate,
a welcome more fitting for late May.
This chilled air has the tell of a first date
bound to fail.
In the gathering grey, nothing shines,
your prospects dimmed
as the dial’s sharp shadow declines
with the sun.
Sails untrimmed
you flounder and fade
becalmed into an all-consuming mist,
leaving nothing but the shade
and shape of one hoping to be kissed.
Given no horizon, what is there left to see
but your life still and frosted and solitary?
Ian Gouge - Writer 