Cassandras multiply in winter.
“You just wait. This year’ll be
the coldest,
the snowiest,
the miserablest
of the decade,
of the century,
of the milennium, damn you! ”
And last year the same prognostications.
The Almanac has spoken;
The wooly worms bought new furs in the fall.
Dogs howl,
Birds fly backwards—
All this perverse behavior;
the seasons have run-amok.
Just once,
(oh, what the hell, twice)
I’d like to hear
a prophecy that announces
a friendly, playful winter,
an early, warm, bright, vigorous springtime
followed by a perfect July
And an outstanding autumn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem