Winter Came

Winter came and stayed eight weeks this year . . .
and now seems packing up cold things to go.
Put away the snowshoes, skis and other gear,
the lawn's a running sheet of melting snow.

The day fades late, so homeward bound you trudge;
as daylight wanes you think of dinner's craft.
Just off the pavement, step hip deep in sludge;
fuss, retreat, search out some firmer path.

Mud sucks at your shoes, a hard, longing slurp;
nearly loose the binding at your ankle.
You swear at those who failed this mud to curb,
while high above the stars come out and twinkle.

You never notice nature's humor never lacks,
nor ever think how earth reclaims our land,
and notice not the pavement's subtle cracks;
while sucking mud awaits at either hand.