Whitsuntide
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The lights were dying down and we
were in silence
across the fruits and the wines
there was to be a celebration
but now it was all over
and so we were nearly disconsolate
and fumbling
the dew drops on the now frosted sills
were bits and pieces
of expressive grandeur and
I could not be restrained anymore
and let go
my reins: you shrieked and fretted
and fumed but it was winter and soon
new centuries would tumble and fall
from the honest, worthy closets
before you could say Gee!
before it was to wildly be profane
and celebrate the lost cause of lost times
***