Where have all the good boys gone?
They seem to’ve melted with the snow.
The naked trees sense something wrong
and whisper lines from long ago.
The freezing flocks of crying crows,
they scream their vows and then ignite.
A slew of murder, as it goes,
with molten feathers, mourns the fight.
The willows wade in tears below
and bent their branches down and wept
as sadness rattled through their bones
and wondered where the good boys went.