IF I, athirst by a stream, should kneel
With never a blossom or bud in sight,
Till down on the theme of its liquid night
at the end of a bad year. Trees begin
to outnumber houses. Rain turns to snow
as fields hang like paintings.
At lunchtime I bought a huge orange—
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
