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Ultima Thule
I look out the window
at another green winter
and
try to remember youth
imbibed on endless fields
of snow fell fresh, a barren
canvas untouched by those slept in
individuals
who dread the cold,
bleak and bitter for adult arthritis,
but my callow friends and I
enlivened at the prospect of
the
mark our toboggans would make,
tracks unique on a hill steep,
which merged with the gray cast sky,
and after many
hours, the wind chilled
the cheeks a winter rose in bloom
observed solely by a flock of titmice
and chick-a-dees
in forage,
subjects to marvel at our effort,
the play of princes in their kingdom,
northernmost and out of reach
from
the known civilization.
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