Winter Commute

How sad and sullen the houses seem
from the windows of the morning train.

How dull and dreary my passenger kin
after a night long and wet with Winter rain.

Our tickets stamped and validated
we commute through Death's favorite season.

Through cold and gray we move daily forward
though I forget the reason.

An old one, though it might have been written yesterday. The mood remains a familiar one. I am, however, taking the bus these days.