In Which A Snowy Day Sets Me To Dithering

Contrary impulses have seized me, and

I'm transfixed, by the window, in their grips.

I still am sick, could barely lift a hand

To heave and shovel snow - though it's the hips

And legs that should do that work - yet I would

So dearly like to go play in that fresh, white

Inviting snow. My skis are - to the good -

In Saratoga, so that's out. All right

But just a walk? A bike ride? A quick romp

With Molly in the park? I really ought

To stay home and get well at last. I stomp

An angry foot at this, though. Yes, I've got

A poor track record, being sick and then

Undoing efforts to get well again.