I’ve been wrapped in a sheet of white,
Since the day I arrived.
So eerie white.
It gathers less peace and more of a sheen of sadness.
A river of madness,
That carries me like a flash flood.
Drops me from colourful skies, to a land of white sludge.
Dripping with a lack of colour,
The Overrated Dollar.
Yet, somewhere in this pell mell,
I have come to know the smell,
Steak and bacon and Maple syrup,
Away from Europe.
There’s a pale place of it’s own,
Right next to the Whispering pinecone.
From the window next to me,
This towns people holler,
And I drag myself out of bed,
Work until dead,