The Inevitable

Vintage Words


I look around and wish I could see Spring.

Instead, the leaves are turning and tumbling,

the sky is cloudy, the days shorter. Maybe

I could migrate each winter like Canada Geese

to Florida or Texas where winters are mostly



From there I can dream of snow and ice

and leave behind the drudgery of shoveling

frozen water to make a path to more

flozen water.


All things die back to the ground except

the roses which are clipped to avoid damage.

Trees are indifferent to winter. Perhaps

I should wish to be more tree like.







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