WHEN winter is done, and its journey is run, it ought to retire for a while; retire to its tomb, or its lair, and make room for spring, with her radiant smile. When spring comes along with her laughter and song, and birds singing carols in tune, man, trustful galoot, dons a light gauzy suit, and underwear fitted for June. He's chipper and gay, and he thinks it O. K. to soak all his wintertime duds; oh, he's stylish and neat, and the girls say he's sweet as the bees and the birds and the buds. Then spring flies away, and the heavens are gray, and winter comes back with a roar, with winds that are bleak, being iced for a week somewhere on the Spitzbergen shore. Then where is the guy who was sauntering by, attired in his summertime rig? In a hospital bed he is out of his head, insisting on dancing a jig. Doc says to the nurse, "Better order a hearse, and measure this gent for a grave; there's no way to miss such a drama as this, since winter won't learn to behave." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS by THOMAS HOOD THE REVENGE OF HAMISH by SIDNEY LANIER THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: DECEMBER by EDMUND SPENSER SOLOMON SCHECHTER by ALTER ABELSON TO A WILD DUCK by BERNICE GIBBS ANDERSON |