When the night comes and wind
swirls past the windows, our little ones roar
and rail against bedtime.  Darkly
they sulk off to brush their teeth, blowing
sighs through their lips, miserable like winter’s
cloud-covered sky, empty like its bare
landscape.  The day’s done in a snap,
the crack of snowman’s brittle twig, his limbs
twisted and crooked, pointing across
the yard to nowhere.  Finally they settle,
and we wish them dreams of spring’s
warm happy sun and summer’s green garden path.