snivel

hidden green pokes through the heavy grey
a sign of nothing more than winter holds
a share of grief within its chilly folds
there is no hope of peace during the day
even the silence has something to say
about the air thick with spores of moulds
the messenger of yet more chills and colds
and yet we venture these climes to essay
to sneeze and snivel is the human fate
reminder of our limits and our weak
bodies lest pride take us so very high
that we forget that we did not create
the bones that even now rattle and creak
and give our soaring hopes the constant lie