I tread this in-between gray mire,   as a murder of ravens soars overhead.   I pass a crystal-like ice ditch,   as the sky glows an ominous red.      And now I see no animals in sight,   other than the telephone line birds,   preparing to leave for the night.      I tread in the pouring rain, train tracks.   As the preceding day faintly haunts my brain.   And the gently flickering street lamp,   in no way is it brighter, and a caring I cannot feign.