Now, at the start of spring
Winter sends us one last blast
of cold. Like a dying
patient who rallies
just before he
finally fails,
finally falls
into whatever comes next
Though no one seems to mind
when Winter dies
Winter has one of those,
“it’s a blessing”
deaths,
though, when people say it
about a loved one
(theirs or mine)
I want to scream
or give them a slap
or both,
no matter the circumstances of the death
But the death of
Winter is
another matter.
After all,
we know that
Winter
will always
find her way back.
In Other Words 