28 Days Later

Thin, delicate trails of vapour:
Only visible as the moon brushes clear her face.
She swats them aside sharply,
Waxes impatient,
Looms large upon night’s spire.

However:

No matter how bravely she blusters
Or blows the locks from her brow;
She cannot hasten,
Or hinder,
The tiny trickle of silver filling her cup.

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