Blow thou, winter wind, on my shutters and doors,
knock down happy scenes outside department stores,
and lay your hand over the acres of trees
picked before their prime and chopped off at the knees.
Set loose your ice knife blade and cut through the night,
send glad-handing carolers running in fright,
wreak havoc on fake snow and decorative sleighs
and overwrought, wasteful electric displays.
Blow on, winter wind, separate wheat from chaff,
and I will smile merrily, and even laugh
when your icy breath on the window panes rasps
and rattles lawn ornaments and dry bird baths.
Send all the leaves, dried out, their chlorophyll gone,
to rest on the self-righteous manicured lawns
of those who would well-wish just once every year;
Blow on, and once all of the garbage is cleared
keeping blowing until you have gusted your fill.
Blow ye most triumphantly, blow as ye will;
and then, when your efforts have cleaned off the swill,
meet me at the top of some sad, lonely hill
to lend me your strength — let it fill up my lungs.
Together, we’ll seek out new songs to be sung,
and gather fresh myths to raise our kids among
that see the world once more as vibrant and young.
04 DEC 2004
