When elements do merge, as Whitman said.
Less horrid than at sunset, when it's west
To which one has to drive into the red
And blue and grey, directly into glare.
But I was driving east; 'twas just delay
And indolence that forced me to beware
Of darkness, eighteen-wheelers, and the play
Of wind and snow and ice across the road.
At least no white-outs threatened, but snow plows
And unskilled winter drivers, these bestowed
An extra need for caution and for vows
To tarry not so long 'midst the delights
Of coffee, chess and wine, on future nights.