As if to pretend it wasn’t so,
The sun played summer across the snow.
And all that kept me from playing along
Was whatever said pretending’s wrong.
Not that I held it against the sun
(On which whatever and I were one).
And just as well, for who was I
To begrudge the sun an occasional lie?
But sons of mothers are hardly weaned
Before the better part have gleaned
The use, if not necessity,
Of viewing matters honestly.
Better to take the lack of leaf
(And song, for rather than come to grief
The birds had fled in self-defense)
For what it was: the evidence.