Ode to a hope

There is no snow on the ground. It doesn't snow here. It's cold, rustic yet not harsh. I have been looking for the rain, the wet rain which would make this cold all the more worthwhile. I have been peeking out the glass windows to catch a glimpse of the dewdrops making their final journey in the dense smog. I am in the mood for an ode.




There's always something in the end
There's always nothing to begin with.
I have been found wanting to bend,
'cause the tranquil nightingale has not yet uncovered its sheath.
Shattered dreams lay by the wayside,
Hope was never in what I knew
I learnt to stand up.
Dreamer in me could no longer hide,
The coffee chuckle would now brew,
The soul inside me was a molten cup.