Winter is upon us, dear friends,
The unhappy microbes of ailment
Shall taunt out weary souls;
But our spirits will beset any weather,
Whether we continue to care,
About our wereabouts;
The jig and merry dance
Will always remind us of our locale -
We spin and spin and ne'er shall have
Eyes to see behind us;
We listen and shout and ne'er shall have
Ears to enlighten us;
We lick, moan, taste, tempt and knaw upon
The feast of our species' magnificent scents;
But we still spin and spin until we spin no more,
The weave unfinite, the failure in awe.