In winter air,
the siren rings
among the leafless trees.

The night,
it falls too quickly.
The days,
they sleep too soon.
I much prefer the stretched
and strengthened days of June.

Leave be the creaking bones of snow,
Let pass this fragile moon.
I much prefer the waxed and wakened days of June.

I don’t mind
the brighter skies,
the holidays,
the giving ways,
but I much prefer the stretched
and strengthened days of June.