Nocturne

I'm stuck here ... and the slush drips, water, mud ... To know nothing again, there'd be one method - A gas lamp's in the throes, it's there, it's not there, - An alcoholic crosses the dismal square. Soaked in the heavy dampness the town sleeps. Between these walls she too sleeps, perhaps, - Houses of iron in brick houses, And the heavy doors close. Upstairs the quiet humming of a piano; Struck like a gloomy sack in the clouds, my shadow - Drops spurt, It's snowing slops, From a window, in a vase, A yellow rose looks down..