Wipe the fog from the

mirror and your mind and take 

a good long look, friend  

Woozy from the soul

of wondrous love that abides 

we swoon, oh, we swoon

The budget bulges 

with brutality leaving 

no room for relief  

There's a tree that each

year fights fall and it always 

loses its leaves last 

These fattened vultures 

aren't even waiting for our 

deaths to pick us clean 

The road, cracked and slashed,

carries a stooped shadow, aged

and stumbling along 

Wind carries words in

the park, bits of discourse from

wooing to sheer wrath