Doldrums

A face in cold rain, weary and haggard.
An arriving inbound train is laggard.
Like the falling rain it's slow and steady
For the waiting who are never ready.
The patter of the rain numbs the senses
And renders would-be passengers senseless.
An organ's whirl is like overcooked pork
That is unyielding to a dinner fork.
The pair of eyes see only gray around,
The gray of the rain and the organ's sound.