We, of the Celtic race
Are well used to feeling
The bite of frostwind -
Reminding us that Calvin is not dead.
Reminding us
That our pleasures
Must be hard-won.
That our summers,
Metaphorical, and otherwise,
May be wedged-out by splinters
Of gale.
The frostwind catches us
In love, and hate,
Fleecing-away the
Tranquil effect
Of the fly-by-day sun;
Bringing the world
Back to earth,
Giving a broad hint
To philosophers, and dreamers,
That the milk of human kindness
May now arrive frozen
In it's containers.
Robert Wylie
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/frostwind/
