Pig Latin Or Hic Genuflectitur. Poem by Paul Brookes

Surly not...
pause....
the Muse is back
she took December away
no jocular jaunty jottings
January's just jaded jargon.

She fled fickle February
wind blown ides of march
fractured by her absence,
while I made no sense.

sad times,
mad times
killed Valentines
heart stopped
breath taken
wrath, tears, loss and and and...........
kneeling we rise.

defines,
confines,
reminds us.

death gathers us,
leers over shoulders.
he laughs scornful
told you so he says
grin gap toothed,
such humour.

the Muse she stands silent
her widows weeds flow
ink black
paper white faced
single saline droplet rolls
where it drops
funereal flower grow
a hearts dirge.
Hic genuflectitur.