Ramblings of a Clerk

The whispers of a wind are coming through; With smells of times which bear a diff'rent hue A term fulfilled and thus it shall again; Indeed; for time will show us where and when. O' would that words as these were more in truth; Than bitter kisses from a lying youth. I wonder at these hints of remedies; What worth can be derived from fallacies? Can hope so false become the saving wine; For those who blindly grasp at life's red line? Oh my, this job does tend to make me brood; To think such ghastly thoughts no human should; A frightened child who rules divinity And clasps the reins of true infinity. I guess it's time to taste the irony; These winds are signs of my insanity.