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DECEMBER'S GIFT, by                    
First Line: By shrill decree, as the wind / wills, fall's / bequeathing, brooding


By shrill decree, as the wind
wills, fall's
bequeathing, brooding
beauty is arrested
in crisp bequest. It costs

a fortune to heat the house
in which the child
no longer roams in rooms
festooned with hope.

So why fribble with ribbons
another year? Why struggle
to unsnag those ancient lights?

The arrogance from suffering
in which you bask, insufferable
to yourself, might pass; even you

melt through,
your record lows notwithstanding,
your starkest days to date
which January waits to laminate.


http://www.wlu.edu/~shenano






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