We await the gust of the North-easterlies to smolder us,
soothing balm, our beloved first and only defense
Our feet quiver in anticipation of your cold entry
soon-to- be cracked lips part, only to speak of your imminence
Alas, the wait is in vain for the leaves rustle not in dryness,
the fabled mist is not on the morning list
Where are you, your shiveriness? for our children play on dustless streets
chased not by mothers bearing warmer clothing; weather men wondering whether or not…..
If indeed this is your season, your continued absence compels us to reason
Ponderous; the rains outside disrupts familiar order and such thoughts, for time umpteenth!