The Sojourn of Winter
Winter has come without an end,
Pushing away what does suspend:
Springtime does not cease to linger,
Untouched by my reaching fingers.
Return to us the warmth of day,
Whence the night will have gone away,
Shadows of later sunsets fall,
Upon the horizon's wide wall.
Alas, snow furthers invasion
Of precipitate pervasion,
Permeating the air above,
Freezing all hands hidden by glove.
Until the air can hold the sun,
And melted rivers freely run,
The cold will win the weather war,
Whence in two light by dark is tore.
Copyright © B. Joseph Fitzsimons | Year Posted 2017
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