Old Quince, He Has No Common Sense


The last of days in January

have come unto fore,


and Quince has reached

into bloom –

    Winter is no more!


But no one knows

where Winter goes,

and what’s in hold and store –


it’s never been

quite this warm

in Winter, here before!


For fifteen years

and then again

maybe even more,


I’ve never known

Old Quince to be

so quick and rash before.


It may yet still,

it has the will,

to snow, which Quince abhors.


I fear the worst,

I fear for more,

with which he’ll not endure.


I’ve told him once,

if I’ve told him more,

but Quince will just ignore,


“Be careful there,

be on aware,

we don’t know what’s in store.”


For it’s been shown

that no one’s known,

so how can he be sure?


Old Quince he has

no common scents,

for Quince is just a     fleur.



Copyright © 2012 Marvin Loyd Welborn. All Rights Reserved.

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