The Horn Blows

The horn blows once.
Clear and long.
Fog descends upon us
like a new bride in her veil.
We stare in awe she creeps upon us.

She smoothes us with her embrace.
A kiss of death that we cannot escape.
A lull of the night or day,
Her gown sweeping over our land.

The horn blows.
The day begins.
With groans and moans
And the rise of the semi-dead.
We walk and crawl to find some source of relieve.
Still She taunts us,
chokes us without reprieve.

We wait upon the rains.
For the one with the guns
to blast these clouds away.
Let rain descend.
Clear skies rise
And that we can breathe relieve.
That sighs of joy
shall come upon us again.

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