WINTER GOING

WINTER GOING

Winter going, feeling spent and down and out,
The snowbird he is heading south,
To the Bahamas and his summer house,
Giving my world a reason and rhyme.
I can slip and fall in my own good time.
Life is springing up around me,
Daffodils and pansy lion faces,
The earth has turned upon its axis,
The snowmen have no prophylaxis
Except to disappear, and come again another year,
The earth achieves a better stasis.
Full of life and the resolve not to waste it,
The days and years ahead,
To rise above the sense of dread.

Winter leaving, its renting of clothes,
Its desperate attempts to thwart the rose,
Its season of grieving, its time to impose.
Back to the days of color and kites,
Sailing high above the clouds,
Winter is covered in mystery and shroud.
A visage impenetrable, a sleet and snow parade,
Devoid of blossoms, a sham and a charade,
Winter going, doing a half-assed slow fade.

Winter perishing, gasping for air,
Yielding to summer's wand.
Back to its prison of piety and pettiness,
From which there is no bond.
Bring me summer, bring me spring,
Bring me alas a reason for rejoicing,
A season of lightness and a season of smiles,
The comfort of a tulip and a stiff upper lip,
Chase away my treacherous miles.

Winter going, its prissiness and its pride,
Falling down the rabbit hole, one final fatal ride,
Give it its due, it was ballsy and bloated,
And for a short while on its fumes it still floated,
Leaving its frail and indelible mark.
An old bitter man consumed by his snark.

Winter, it is going, and we put flowers on its grave,
Though it once was a king, now a fool and a knave.
In another year it will be back with its paintbrush of doom,
'Til then let it sleep alone in its tomb.
And for those who mourn it, have no fear,
It will rail and snarl fiercely this time next year.
Like a bad penny, alas, it will be back,
To coat our roads and bridges
Our mountains and ridges
With its slippery vile shellac.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED