Wouldst thou endure to fade like autumn gold,
To see thy treasures dulled in fading light,
To watch alone thy tarnished days unfold,
And pass a pauper into worthless night?
Who then will bring a wreath unto thy rest,
And keep thy garden flowered, as is thy wont?
The barren cross that lays above thy breast
Would bear thy name, yet bring to thee affront.
But if thou takes a servant to thy cause,
To tend thy garden and to do thy deeds,
And he would gift a son with no remorse
To tend to thee when his own strength accedes:
Thy treasure trove reflected in his gleaming
Would bring thee joy as thou is ever dreaming.

Shall I compare thee to a Winter’s night ?
Thou art more ugly and more bitter cold:
Soft fogs do wrap the vestiges of light,
And winters lease hath all too long a hold:
Sometimes too cold the hand of hell can feel,  
And rarely is her blackness ever lit;
And every shade and shadow oft conceal,          
By scheme, or nature’s sly force of habit
But thy eternal winter will not pass
Nor find concession in the surgeon’s knife    
Nor can repair or lift your sagging ****
When in infernal lines is etched your life
So long as men can wink and ribs can poke
So long lives this, and you are such a joke.

and
The pickles
on the shelves
in the condiment aisle

are readying
themselves
for the winter

The half-sours
stand at attention

The garlics stand
at parade rest

Dill chips are
stacked so
their eyes cannot see
out the jar

Mrs. Smith's bread & butter
pickles will not be on sale
again until late Spring
(so tasty are these)

What a long cold winter
awaits those

underachieving cucumbers

Let my lust rise up
As incense before you
Listen to these hymns
From my ***** mouth

Say your prayers
When you kiss my neck
Tithe to me
But give one hundred percent

Take and eat
My body and my blood
I am drunk
On this communion wine

The winter winds carefully arrives with dreary wings, it's negative and pushing through the soft sunlight with relative ease.

My warmth is kept at a minimum at all times, for comfort, and my bones ache. They creak in the winter part of the revolution around the sun.

It will be a a eternity and a expired hour to when the warmth will take its turn. Then I will dip my toes in the cold, dark waters of a fresh water hole in a salt water ocean.

The earth will continue through the heavens as our dependency grows with each death of a star. They stick around for a millennia then alter shape to bring the balance full scale.

My life is not measured in the brightness of my comet tail, my life is measured by the depth of the cold, dark heavens. To see the colors of the tail, you must be in the vacancy of the heavens.