I cannot grasp the reasoning
why Winter’s thought a loss,
and not Year’s Boast!
Why not “the sweetest seasoning
on dripping, slow-cooked roast”?
For God has given us an os,
well-fed, in Winter.
From what is clearer comfort drawn:
removal of the skin
or layered clothing, quick to don,
‘fore chill can freeze our hide?
For God has loved, not left to Gwyn;
well-warmed, in Winter.
Look forward not to shiver’s hate,
nor shoveling that fluff
(which can be ill,
admittedly); but scorn the bait
which threatens rage, so shrill,
at God’s snow: white and wondrous stuff,
well-trudged in Winter.
As Autumn fails and orange retreats,
as red is routed fast,
go not to mourn
nor cloak yourself beneath the sheets!
Go well, by boot adorned,
for God’s great lights are long to last,
well-lit, in Winter.
Can company quell heat, or shield
and humid air?
But walk with friends through snow-clad field,
a land well-worth the glare;
and God’s well-met (if lumbering),
well-known, in Winter.
In tavern, fireside, public house,
with warm-cream ale and beer
and stout by hearth,
fear not to be with kin and spouse,
rejoicing well in mirth,
for God made vines (and hops!) to cheer
man’s heart, in Winter.