Come the rain,
Drenching the walkers to bone,
A wet night,
A whore’s blight,
All the Johns are staying home.

Come the ice,
Shivers quake the lurkers skin,
Crusting all
Those that fall
With no home to huddle in.

Come the snow,
Blankets all the dirt and grime,
Falls shallow
Fill shadow,
A pretty coat for a time.

Tomorrow
The warmth melting only wet,
Back to grime
Walkers time,
Winter can’t turn the trick yet.