How quickly warmth departs this cozy world
When Sol’s dim candle gutters near the south
Horizon, soon to be a smoking wick
Around which numb extremities are curled,
A woeful downgrade from a hand-to-mouth
Existence—tragedy for those too sick
Or weak to build a proper fire, no doubt.
To blame divinities is only human,
If blame and prayer yield similar results
And light is something one can’t do without
For half a year or so. A local numen
Is not responsible for how adults
Adapt to circumstances that are global.
Down under, where the seasons are reversed,
No land is such a perfect balmy Eden
That hearts are kind and every thought is noble:
Australians scoff, when summer’s at its worst,
At rates of suicide in northern Sweden.