One Wednesday when the world is grey
And the wind is calling
We leave the covers and the bed,
To let the wind come in.
For ancient reasons, half-believed
We trade the warm indoors
For the howl and the flying snow.
To be clothed by the gale.
We go forth in just these bodies
too fat, too thin, too old
Calling with our mouths full of dust
And our eyes full of ash.
The wind blows where it pleases, and
It tears our shrouds away
Until we see what we’ve become
Beneath our winter things.
Now forty days is far too long
To live so, in winter
So they bury empty caskets
And give our things away.
Till one Sunday when spring has come
They find us on the porch
Fast asleep, finely dressed, faces
Full forgotten by Death.
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