always tan bodied and often shirts left
We forget where now
And it's swimming and drinking
Of wine and sitting by a fire
On the beach.
And in the Winters we are Norse,
wrapped in woolen everything
And eating cream sauce and pickled
Things and drinking warm meads
And we curl up by
The fires in our hearth.
In between--
The heart clicks its heels and
Says good night before twelve,
Beating the groundhog
And the maple leaves to bed.