They faded faster than the setting sun on a winter night of biting cold
For once I had been happy to have floated in the gentle fragrance they brought
I am back to cursing the eleventh month for the atrocities it brings me
Why would this revert to the age old torment of being a month I gruesomely hate
When the other months have neither been kind nor a bastion of hope
And here I am wandering the nights of a soulless December
Awaiting another year to pass to consume me in it's fading embers
I call not to you, my gently harsh and perplexing calm bringer
For yours and mine is a journey to the realms of disambiguation
When you found me in the torrential downpour of a rabid rain of woe
I knew you were another ship, waiting out the storms in my port
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