Let Winter - Poem by Francie Lynch
Fields of snow are standing by
For future prints of thin boots;
Your boots are turned down,
Stained with red initials, and
Your boots are on our feet -
Feet no longer so possessive.
The same holds true for all our clothes -
Our woven splendors, best fitted
Before we wore one thread.
Our thoughts on frozen lines
Drop through iceless holes.
(When you catch a big one, club it!)
Let our monograms drip down on snow,
And bring to mind the mindlessness of
Winter, sleeping beneath wet blankets.
So goes the story. Heard more than once
Around cool embers of recollection.
Suns rise higher in winter when they shine -
We feel them more than summer's suns -so
Obviously cruel by five, when sleep sets in.
Then sleep sets in like banks of ice-hard snow,
That give little but demand plenty.
So let winter.
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