Will wonders never cease?
Not in this life, nor I suspect, the next.
Snow will silent come, carpeting
our drive with white perfection,
capping our eaves with sugar icing.
The sky will blue, beautiful breakable blue
like the shell of an egg;
people will shock your heart.
Your life will be limned like a graphed sentence;
you will laugh at its complexity, at how
noun meets verb through a tangle
of graceless prepositional phrases.
It could not be any other way,
except that it could be.
You will live forever still shaking your head
at small, furry creatures and the way
the light looks at sunset.
Will wonders ever cease?
Not in this life, nor I expect the next.