It can't be pushed back

any more-that tilt of the earth

that makes flowers dress up,

and love poems prance, shod

in promises and kisses.

.

To be able to hold it at bay,

would be glorious for those

that like the furnace hum,

and drapes to hold back 

the freeze, while the hearth

glows with a warm smile-

for those of us not quite

ready for a land in green

velvet robes and laughing tulips.

.

We look for the cold skinny hand

of November beckoning us

to sit by the fire, write poetry

and think of old loves.

04/11/2006