The fog of Friday changed us,
it turned the village on it's face.
Now they all walk backwards
and cry in the cafe...
January does this.
It's cold, frozen, gloom brainwashes.
January, she's off with a bag of marbles,
which she stole from us all.
She makes you want to die.
The month is just an echo of life; gone.
The ducks disappear from the canal,
and my loneliness becomes lonely.
So watch out for that Friday fog,
when it slithers into town.
It changed us catastrophically,
it might change you too.
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By, MrAlmostCertain
YOU ARE READING
Poems by the Young Ambitious Writer's Group
PoetryThis is a compilation of poems, each one written by a member of the Young Ambitious Writer's Group. The first, and starter, project of the group. Enjoy!
