Long,
cold and dark
and too mean for this aged one
to have as an enemy.
Youth can hold out with hope for Spring
and hate you.
But with memories of Spring and Summer fading,
as things do these days,
You become my reality.
Never again can I skip over you with memories
of daffodils and ripe melons to dreams
of warm spring mornings.
The leap across the time chasm,
so short but a few years ago,
is a now-to-jump-over a bleak void.
This year I will fall into your angry belly
if I insist on teleporting
across you with memories and dreams.
Better I court you.
Hesitant morning light will mean
snuggling under covers and warmly waiting,
instead of charging out to demand the sun to rise.
Then I can look forward to cold rainy mornings
when I can wear my favorite wool sweater.
Nor will there be cursing the early dusk when
instead a fire can warm and light a dream time.
Books of adventure of the soul
and cool romantic jazz make for a time of joy.
The steady beat of rain plays a peaceful background
for the time of long nights.
Bleak day becomes sunny and bright
with a morning of cleaning up old files.
Lunch will be longer and an afternoon of writing
will serve to pass the time until fires are lit.
Yes, Brother Winter, I have come now
to love you and will regret spring this year.