The air is white, from windows where I do observe
the season’s bliss. The wind I cannot hear is there,
with airs of chilly warmth, a racing, snowy hare.
Its form opaque, form snow endowed its whitened curve,
I see him now, an ancient friend still quick to serve
his frozen blizzard, ceaseless in his rumble there.
Perennial, he calls again to me and dares
to tease in moaning, teasing tones, with biting nerve:
“You’re free from chilly frost upon your precious ears,
but can you be as free as me, to dance and veer?”
Retorting, “No”, I say, “However you may prance,
I’m just as free – not physically – but in my mind.
And with my heart, I go with you, and twirl and wind,
and part of me shall join you in your wintry dance.”
Oh, the use of "wind" in the next to the last line--very satisfying!
ReplyDeleteAw thanks. I love it too, especially because you have to think about which "wind" it is!
ReplyDelete