Greetings!

The garniture in their
Particular vases
Glitter with glass flowers,

Season’s decorations.
It’s getting to be then,
That northern time again,

When part of the globe goes
Dark, irregularly
Cold, colder, and colder still.

A species of bipeds,
Not one of them truly
Indigenous to cold,

Furless, sweat-adapted
Skin with lots of surface
And heat-radiant skulls,

Makes a fuss about this,
Being prone to dances
Around fires, rituals,

Songs, and storytelling,
Magical charms against
Annual predators,

The winter and the dark,
As if they were lions,
As if they were only

Teeth and claws, and not ice
Reminding the bipeds,
You may wield fires and knives,

You may love caves and stars,
But you don’t know the dark
That has no doors on light.