Winter, Oh My Winter

Winter, oh my winter,

Would earthlings revel in your cool fresh exhale,

if not for summer's hot air stifling and stale

Would fields feel quenched by your bountiful snows,

if the heat of summer never scorched vast meadows

Would wintertime bodies hunker down to finally rest

if not for summertime's delirious dash overly zest,

Would lovers cozy next to crackling warm fires,

if July, August's heat decided not to expire

Summer, oh my summer,

Would I dream of the warmth during your sunniest season,

if never had I felt the winter cold frigid and freez'n

Would souls grasp the brilliance of your golden vibe,

if never were they dimmed under December’s gray sky

Would artists applaud May, June, July’s forests aplenty,

if not for the cold season’s bare branches unending

Would gardeners yearn for your glorious green groves,

without ever seeing them covered in blankets of snows

Nightfall, oh my nightfall,

Would owls encounter twinkling under your starry sky show,

if daylight got stingy and never let go

Would deer dally beneath your nocturnal light,

if never had they escaped during daytime’s plight

Would natives sleep soundly under your soft moonbeams,

if shimmers were cast upon them by endless sun streams

Would crawly creatures frolic under your cool sky so black

if perpetual sunlight kept them from that

Daytime, oh my daytime,

Would birds chirp in celebration of your dawn,

if nocturnal night let the sun shine on and on

Would flower petals unfold under your sunlit sky

if they weren't able to rest by the dim moonlight

Would souls know how much your warmth feels merry,

if cold night never showed up to the contrary

Would sun worshipers scurry off to play on the beaches,

if seashores skipped the cycles of nighttime sieges

Lover, oh my lover,

Could I have known my deepest love for you any more,

if your soul hadn't went home through heaven’s door

Would our memories often carry my thoughts away,

if it hadn't been His will for you to stay another day

Would I cherish our years to this degree,

if you were still here to say so much more to me

Would the cliché, absence makes the heart grow fonder,

now possibly be any more profounder

Dedicated to our Joseph joyfully watching over us from above . . .