Go away, I say! Go!
This thaw in January is a muddy mess.
More snow, more shovelling, more
scarves more drippy nose and frozen
toes are still to come.
Such teasing is too cruel
refusing orphans excess gruel
is not so melodramatic so
cruel as this — this slushy hope.
And yet, we dopes, we know from bitter
springs of other hopes that
half-a-dozen scattered thaws or eight
still wait with pain to entertain. And freezing rain.
So, go! I say, Go!
And what’s the forecast?
Snow.
A(d) verse complaint
