Winter Rondeau Poem by Roy Ballard

Him
O let us go! For summer seems
already come and golden beams
warm leafless banks although they're bare;
wild honey seems to scent the air
and ghostly mayflies haunt the streams.
Her
I catch your words and eye which gleams
and tells me that it ill beseems
and yet the sunny banks are fair.
O let us go!
Him
We have surpassed the wanton themes
that jealous muses bring to dreams
with ravishments beyond compare.
Her
But now I am in disrepair
and O how cold the weather seems.
O let us go!