I weep for myself, my people, my friend.
I grieve what was & is no more again.
My inner child’s asking questions right now.
I don’t have answers; no “who, what, why, how?”.
All we have is the next slippery step.
The road’s slick & unsure…but on we schlep.
Blind, we gallop towards burning stables.
No finery safe whilst flipping tables.
A slouching beast takes residence on high.
Surely, we’ve guardrails to hold the end nigh?
L.B.Stowe 