the rains, the cold air
have not relented,
the winds, the earth,
have assured
the foison’s death—
o primavera,
do you now
lay dormant—
the skies,
bedecked
with solemn tones,
have yet to
leese this
ghastly
grey
complexion
i know this poor
weather is going
to hold

i don my
apparel—
gloves
cap
coat—
impermeable
warm—
safeguarded by
my calid aegis,
i decide
to part
from my
quarters,
the old
sturdy
door
is opened
at once

as i
venture
outdoors
to greet
the
crestfallen
clime
i am
received
by
the
presence
of gaia’s
distempers—

o primavera,
do you now
lay dormant—

i close
the door
behind me

and set
off to
where
i am due