December comes, and with it the dawn of winter.
It's in the air, it's on the water :
the slow. bitter whistle of
a lonesome and lost breeze
blowing from beyond the stars
across this ageless meadow and this aged face,
blowing down hallways and pathways
past watchwords and patchworks
terminating nothing and remembering everything
while alone we weep in the blue and the white.
Away now to your hours, away to your horse and your burning boy.
Regard me not, slut, for I am Agamemnon and I am Jasper the Destroyer!
Go eat frost and shutup. The time is ever too late!
Winter stands on the doorstep.