Summation

In the end
When winter has blown
Its final breath
Across landscapes
Where it was expected
And where it
Crept
In silent but unremitting
Stealth
From behind billowing
Purple curtains
And
Under ill-fitting
Drafty doors,
Chilled sweet
Solitude
Remains in the wake
Of
The final gust
Simply because
It must.

One hand of
The calendar cards
Concluded
To be re-dealt
By the awesome
N'er smiling visage
In ruffled
Arm garters
And darkened glasses;
A bet against the house
Is always
A certain loser.
One game ends
And the next begins
In the frozen forever
Of winter
Where righteousness is buried
Right along with
The sins.

The hors d'oeuvres
Of Autumn
Tempts the appetite
With crisp
But tasty nuggets
Of alabaster dreams,
But the tongue soon
Freezes
With the icy bite
Of yet another
Solstice
As it rushes in
And reminds the world
That pure white beauty
Is not always
As it seems.