Through tribes of time-revealèd facts
1
March seasons: now the first slight snow
Is grounded cool enow to dust grim tracts
Where peasant footsteps soon, white-wet, will slow.
If blustery enough, some few might slip,
5
And though the fit young femme may birth a laugh,
Her drooping grand-madame could blow a hip,
And end more sadly than a rom-com gaffe.
We trip as well on slush'd slopes of our minds
9
And while the young man finds increasing grace
His father's grip in winter blunter grinds:
Thence as we age we needs must trim our pace.
Storm-bound, read blizzard books with still bold eyes
13
Lest dragging added years can't grow as wise.