Winter is here.
And there's nothing more to be said Earth
has bared her bosom
and in the thick of life
we are in the thick of death.
There breaks the cherry-blossom on
the brazen J2@!!ch
but to look at hope
is to see it fade.
And there's no end to bleakness nor a
dearth of human delights.
Thus December unwinds
like an unsettling skein
from hands of an indifferent sky and
a frigid earth.
When leaves fell in autumn
I tried to keep death at bay;
the chill which will curdle
the mellow blood of the year and
the long arm of winter
which will grip the criminal heart by
its upturned collar.
Wishing only the merry gift of the guitar,
the heartwarming fire,
the succulent mouths of women opening
with closing eyes
and, most of all, the thawing wine,
this. Belated heart
Among the lovers who are gone will celebrate life
in the midst of death.