The night that takes me home could have been an evening,
but then the snows again appeared, deceiving.
And all the Spring incline once more a muddle
As snowdrift veils the snowmelt puddle.
Again the fields are white and all cars too.
The very Henry’s dream in negative hue.
The slow retirement -a childish glee.
Where age perceives its doom,
youth dreams infinity.
©TheHairyTeacher2013