Warm Winter

Warm Winter

Golden light and shadow ushers in fall.

The world tilts, slows, swirls, flashes brightness like leaves

falling—sky grows bluer as geese flocks call

the news of their migration; water grieves

their absence, grows dark and opaque, no lure

for swimmers, no need for fence to fetter.

It is the time to put forth new warm fur,

build burrows, write that long delayed letter

before the snow covers our tracks, blankets

the earth in white, sets the weak sun to burn,

before the ponds and lakes wear bracelets

of ice, now while the leaves still clutch and turn.

When winter whistles, we’ll be smugly snug,

feet up, fat cat, sipping on a steaming mug.

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