Mr. Winter
Any day now, any night—its coming.
I can feel his hand in motion,
And not by slight brush or wave
We already gave up our summer.
Autumn rolled out the red carpet,
And gold. It knows and is ready.
Not I. Too soon. Mister Winter
Comes clicking on the window so near
With crystal and wind-jeweled ring fingers,
Wants to hit me with white knuckles, fisted.
Not ready. Still hiding in the corner.
My bed is a pillow-padded ring.
Won’t stand for a knock-out, not ready.
Still planning my advance and maneuver.
He may never even know my abhorrence,
Or the hour I decide to fight back.
I start with a lack of cold courage,
but fashion a red badge of cheer.
I’ve tallied and ranked more batting
Grey socks, stripe sweaters, knit gear.
Fear will no longer haunt me.
I’ll reach out and pull in my woolies
And stand to face that cold day.
May even take him as partner
Mr. Winter will not keep me down.
.
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