approaching midnight

as we sit and face the future

there’s no one knows just what we’ll need

anger breeds on edge of suture

fire declares itself with speed

rhyme and reason fade in panic

fire and water meet in peace

not a one who waits is manic

yet not a one could blame caprice

grant the fire will burn the clover

and mighty flood will cleanse the vale

nothing’s left here to recover

none of the wise will hear this tale

shallow paint the world in colour

make the choices come out flat

things will seem to come out duller

the night belongs to angry bat