Where Will We Be When Winter Comes

Where Will We Be When Winter Comes Where will we be when Winter comes? In a sleigh with silver tinkles, Troika of a love that lasted? Dashing out across The snowlands, Wind in face And bold of heart, Bold as only those who love Can be? Oh, the towns that we have gone through! We have gone the road of springtime. Green-laced fringes, Opening flowers. And the fountained towns of summer. Sunbaked roofs and Shaded doorways. Long, sleek, bronzened. Happy voices. Now we're on the path of autumn. Tarrying at its golden tavern, Drinking in its rich Red vintage. Where will we be when Winter comes, When youth is gone And there is just us three? Safe in the troika of our love, Our love, and you and me. —Clay Ellis High Wash Day Today is wash day I have a soul to scrub, My own poor soul to scrub. Take it where the wet can patter it, Grab a beating stone and batter it, Bend and rub! For when tomorrow comes It must be starched and white Like a new blouse, tight With pleats, and prim across the breast Secret with yesterday's fingers. —Clay Ellis High Aunt Julia If I can still find you in my dreams, then you are not dead; tin-can geraniums stuck on the porch; you, standing in a brown gingham dress, and I can walk up and give you a hug. You who were so worldly, you never admitted affections; and I can say in my dream, hello Aunt Julia, glad to see you. And the trumpet blue blaze of morning glories going up the wood lattice, in the dream I have. And I get to clasp your hand, hard, cold, workworn and rough as a blistered stone. Aunt Julia, I can find you in my dreams. The world is in a rotten decay, but you who have died are still alive. I have no other world but the honor you delivered to others, and did not claim. —Jane Mayhall 73 ...