Winter crept right up on fall,
Slugged it with a blackjack, took its cash,
And left it bleeding in the snowy street,
Still dressed for a party that was over now.
It was an ambush. It was beautiful -
The shock of white against the blazing leaves.
Thank Heaven for surprises, even those
That catch us gormless and make fools of us.
Fall fell, but spring will spring up; spring will take revenge,
And color, coming back in triumph, will
Make mincemeat of its bragging frozen foe,
Who, knowing when he’s licked, will lick his wounds,
And dream in dark places of his next attempt.
Thank Heaven, too, for rivals; without them,
How would we know what secret stuff was ours?
How would we forge the straight shaft of a soul,
If not in fires meant to vanquish us?
Let us be tempered by what means us ill,
And that which does not kill us, let us kill.
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