Times Revenge

The cold is filling my hands in January's chill damp weather With thunderbolts and lightning. Two thumbs and two fingers Moan like a swirling mist rising Up from under an old front door. The clarinet has taken time Off and sits forlorn in its case. A music stand with Ode to Joy Pestering me to play, but I can't. It will be my constant companion At least until the end of February. Stubbornness may prevail and I press on through the pain, but Then night gets its own back as I am kept awake. Arthritis is times Revenge that we can do nothing About except have patience.