Anticipation

How slow the slink of time, of days . . .
By now we should be used to them,
These hours committed to introspection,
But somehow it's unnatural
To live our lives in quietude
Like monastery ruminants
Chewing and rechewing musty,
Overly masticated cuds.
We yearn for revels outside our walls:
Dances in meadows, jamborees,
Public feasts, enthusiastic
Games of tag, or capture the flag--
Merrymaking in all its forms--
Tankards of glögg and rum-punched cider
Shared with friends, as scampers of children
Dart underfoot; crackles of laughter,
Hoots, and halloo-theres; hugs
And handshakes and kisses and such.
While in the yard:
A parade of snowfolk in imitation
Of our ecstatic, audacious eruption.

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

Indeed, such nicely described revels would be welcome indeed, especially at this time of year. Alas, though, the plague is happy to celebrate with us.