Parading

Saddled but riderless, reins dragging on the pavement,

What old December’s bareness everywhere!

a kind of filler / made either

The cost of flight is landing.

And in the dream

Awake! Give thyself to the lovely hours.

Some sleet fell

We turned our backs against the bitter wind,

“Do I get to be Marilyn Monroe?” you asked,

We are the lords of life, and life is warm.