one last doom

 the wind traps each in their own tiny room

blasts out the silence and makes all take stock

for in the morning we face one last doom

 

it was but yesterday we saw the bloom

pallid yet vibrant not a thing to mock

the wind traps each in their own tiny room

 

on this dark day when the only perfume

is bitter scent of ashes our knees lock

for in the morning we face one last doom

 

with no sun rising to relieve the gloom

nor to bring warmth to the hard barren rock

the wind traps each in their own tiny room

 

for hearts to harden and for minds to fume

while each lost traveller waits on the knock

for in the morning we face one last doom

 

the golden cradle will serve for a tomb

to learn that fact will not come as a shock

the wind traps each in their own tiny room

for in the morning we face one last doom