They call you Winter, old man - Mar 8, 2022

the snowy beard

that hides the cold

deep voice that frames

the ice blue eyes

your red-cheeked January

shivers inside a white blanket

but it’s March now

you don’t look well

the beard is muddy

eyes drip sadness

your softer words

lost in bird song

come April

I sit with you

on your deathbed

and we both hear it

laughter

from newborns

of all creatures

twisting in the sun