Winter's Bending

Winter, how she bends And summer, she sends a sky Over the hedge to kill The last remaining frost-speckle Of cold, ice branches, Dead for a season but not next. This is my autobiography Written in reverse. The death of Happiness, which is Sadness in reverse. Before the sunning Of faces and places There will be familiar memory traces Of swimming and singing And taking tea with me under the veranda tree. This is the death of winter And the oncoming sun is too much for me to bear So I shrink back to the season of snow And rest with icicles, my friends who melt Into other seasons to be absorbed By green.