the season’s purpose, its raison d’être.
Yes, do, go to Hawaii, escape!
where bones of sinister intent are pointed:
a stern and lukewarm welcome.
You do prefer the sun, so hot and giving life,
warmth of Mother Earth, a smiling face.
Yet cruel, unforgiving, destroying dew,
and mist and fog and water on pink petals.
And, enemy to cypress and pure snow.
Oh, that Frau Holle, snow Matron in the sky,
would shake her heavenly and promise-laden bedding,
with vigour and benign determination,
to cover me with soft and white and powdery fluff.
Comforting with its silent lullaby
in everlasting sleep for my salvation.