1984                                    

To darkest season, must our reason turn.

‘Twas d’vised: election follows equinox;

then shocked, is sobered solstice sure to spurn

warm weather’s spawn, left ‘neath poor-proofed locks.

No wood in fireplace, nor goods in mantle’s socks?

In fall foul Falwell, begged: let Bonzo be;

the fooled then followed. They set back the clocks

(though daylight saving, we might no more see).

With colds and costs, we wonder: who is free?

‘Tis told: just they who play with po’try’s pun,

who e’en see sound in needl’bare yuletide tree.

Enough! The “elements,” must we learn to run.

Old dogs, though, miss hors d’oeuvres; mirth is o’erdue,

so Merry Christmas! Happy New Year too!

(12/84)                                                        

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