From
ChRONS AND MAXIMS

* * *

I miss absinth so much when winter comes,
I miss it all the time. Yes, true, I could well
Have found me lots of other things to do,
To paint some pictures or to play some music,
To get into the play with some young boy,
But winter comes and I begin to miss, –
Absinth – to take the leaf, to rub in fingers
To smell the tasty bitter absinth smell,
And to remember summer, sun and August –
Like someone Cyrus brooded o'er the past.

© Katy J. Trend, 1992