Premonition of Winter
I lack the interest to know
I am not curious to see
Those withered leaves, mixed up with snow
Which relatively soon will be
I ‘d rather fall into lethargic
Totally dreamless thoughtless sleep,
Than bump again into nostalgic
Perennial winter, growing deep
And maybe half a century later
I’ll be awoken by the noise
Of summer morning perforator
And some road worker loud voice.
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