In my yard, unsteady, I’ve taken my first steps since October. Winter’s glories abound, and its desolation…

Winter’s Feast

At winter’s feast, I drink the yellow jasmine – 

Paint my lips with blood-pink bloom – 

Rub my hands with Rose of Mary;

In their rooms, dear pansies flirt and swoon.

 

At winter’s feast, I touch the veined hydrangea – 

Dress my hair with leaves of old – 

Drown in sun’s light, close my eyes tight; 

In their rooms, dear pansies smile and scream, bold. 

 

At winter’s feast, I shiver with the branches – 

Hold their bony hands in mine.
Grey becomes the sky, becomes me.

All the while mad pansies breathe the Winter air malign –
and dream of Spring.

 

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