Humanity

Seasons come in the cold,

Reluctant to turn the clocks back,

A mere hour of change,

Creeping into the cruel web.

Fingers on plastic keys,

And coffee so black one can taste

the bitterness

Sneaking up and into the snouts

of humanity.

Coffee without white sugar.

Seasons come in the sun,

Reluctant to turn the clocks forward,

A mere hour of progress,

Oozing from the web.