How, now I chortle at your winter freezing -
Here, High Summer fruits turn rich purple-pink-ward
Harvests in Hades: hay-fevered sneezing,
Hushed here in Her handkerchief - while you go rink-ward,
Hands held at shoulder height against your slipping.
Here: Our hands clasped, we dance for our rejoining,
Here: cups of pomegranate, scarlet for sipping,
Held for us by Ganymede (eagle-scarred, mourning).
He from his Trojan home, bird-reaved by rapine,
Has in my Underworld sought his asylum.
Here we have many, those pestered by phylum,
Harassed in sunset-rains - gold, gets him in the mood -
Hypocrite Zeus has woo’d,
High-fived, and rudely zoo’d in his abandon!
Hera should long have left, him in my view,
Hard is it (e’en for Gods) to judge how pairs still cleave.
Hard winters, weather
How forgiveness can be found for that swan's feather?
Hera would have a fit, if she had seen the chit, in the cow-leather!
Have we persisted, not in spite but because, half of the year, you leave?
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