Oh, I revere it!
Winter’s waltz chancing my feet
O’er Autumn’s death march
I need to be talked down to, talked at
And once I’m abandoned, accused
I need life in ruin, in fear
Promise me the Summer, give Winter
Give me this November, promise not
How would the rodents speak
What words would they say
“Yes, you, bring berries to your back yard
And all manner of citrus and apples alike
Fresh, full with fructose, on these barren of days
We planned well for the season
The Winter in May of the Spring
Evidence our good-faith actions
Our holes in diligence dug
Where we find once again, our daily bread
While our feathered Southern friends, oh!
How they need, need, need your hand
We’ll let them dine
This cold winter day
Will you drive us to the sun
Your hand on my knee
In the dead of Winter
After the artificial electric
The sound of sung merriment
Let the shine on my bare shoulders
Reflect the distant auroras
And hold the light
From your eyes
Who told you?
Who said it should’ve been so?
The looming liar lurking?
A voice from the mount’?
Would that there’d been!
Oh that there’d be!
What harm would befall to let it all go?
And exclaim to the the everlasting, omnipresent silence:
There’s ink to the contrary;
Screaming loud and clear.
So my skin -if none else- must tell the truth, dear.
My hand, the fall, forced.
Fall sat on fences
and dragged its feet home. Bring on
the white, wint’ry storm.
Spring sought my soul soaked
and wants my demise. Kiss me
you blue Summer skies.