So, “They” say it’s going to snow,
and then dip into the single digits on Sunday
and stay there until Thursday or so.
Okay, Winter.
Okay, have your farewell tour.
Come, say goodbye.
But, please, make it goodbye.
Spring is coming, I’ve invited him,
and I don’t want him finding you here,
with your white excretions flung hither and tither
like some frosty Jackson Pollock.
Come.
Embrace us —
and then go with grace.