a Katsusika Hokusai print from Pictures of One Hundred Poems by One Hundred Poets,

as Told by a Nurse

No one longs for winter’s chill,
for the way the world stands still.

No one desires the hunger,
the thirst, the need to hunker

down while the winds howl and snow
and ice look nice in the glow

of the fire’s flickering light.
No one, save children, delight

in the icicles and frost.
Others mourn what had been lost,

wishing fall lasted longer,
searching for those harbingers

of spring, the mud, the few sprigs
of green.  To be pruning twigs

or planting seeds on the fresh
laid field as if work’s the best

remedy for idleness.
No one longs to be useless

for days on end, but prefer
what labor has to offer

with all that stooping, clearing,
hauling, planting, and steering

a path towards summer, burning
winter’s dregs the best yearning.