Last Snow

For snowstorms that come in the spring,
I have great respect,
knowing Winter, though rapidly aging,
can still engage
in one last effort of raging.

I forget names of places I’ve been,
but still can bet
this final snow will be heavy,
dropping down in drifts.

I admit it is snowbound to win.

Still, it gives me hope
as I walk a slope enclosed in flake-speckled light.
Before I even get home,
a world of white
will be gathered, a comforter round me.

The wind blows sporadically now,
but soon will calm,
quiet down to the level of sleep.
As the darkness grows
the world and I are at peace.

I take it slow, enjoy every moment of breathing.