Logan II

There is a pall upon the sky today.

The dreary fog above us is

an echo,

somber, offering its tears.

The leaves are downcast.

We are buried in white ribbons.

We echo dark visions.

Ghosts, and ghosts, and ghosts,

plus five,

good brothers,

future farmers of America,

some stalwart souls,

sons and fathers.

Beyond that I’m not sure.

Just this;

I think

that if they chose they’d end

another way.