– Joseph L. Lothian

The Yule Tide season now is past,
And Hogmany has marked the last,
Of the old year; now with scary,
Creeping cold comes January,
Short days of wind and biting freeze,
Dark dawns and even darker eves,
Long johns and parkas are the dress,
To cope with winters chilliness.
Johnny, Where art thou?

The wind is bitter, bellows blow,
Sharp stinging stingers of the snow,
To lash beneath the hooded guard,
With penetrating icy shard,
Upon the beardless blanched bare skin
See whitened signs of frost begin,
That mark a prelude to the pains,
Of inflammation of chilblains.
Johnny, Where art thou?

The snow in wintry windrows pile,
To clog the sidewalks entry aisle,
Then needful of a shoveled path,
Brave, bravely through the winter wrath,
To scoop and throw the drifted snow,
No friend indeed the Old Lumbago,
At risk the sacroiliac,
That augers future aching back.
Johnny, Where art thou?

The month is long, the days are short,
Can January ere abort,
Will winter willfully withdraw,
And bring a promise of a thaw,
And lo! The clouds crowd in the west,
Ride gently on the mountains crest,
A vista now comes into view,
Revealing thus an arch of blue.
Johnny, Now is blowing through!