Winter Blues (Staining Paper)

Smoke in the air,
every farmhouse
electing a new pope.
Dried toads on the tarmac
like discarded golfers' gloves.
Goats on the move;
Nike-shod shepherds
manouevring round road signs.
More clothes on passers-by
than you'd ever see in autumn.
Different sights;
so much material
for writing something.
Dull words in random sequence,
I'm only staining paper.