A blanket of gloom
has come over
this sweet scented town.
A casted spell that
rests in hilled pockets.
Strange,
how it carries on
like there is no
need for the sun,
like there is no
other place
it could lay down its
doom.
On the ride home
I play,
a somber tune, a
blue ballad
to match all
the gray.

e.campagna