it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
It was time to hibernate, we thought
To live off our fat for a month or two
Or three as bears, undisturbed within
Our lair, to wake only for spring
And Christmas wine, but to otherwise
Remain somewhat motionless in
The cold darkness; do the others see
How dark it has become? We wonder
but man must work and children call
But the spirit of winter is this; to find
The tomb inviting if only for its rest
Howbeit the bed and the cave alike
Remind, and the trees retreat to their root
The world is dead, as it will be dead again
And once was dead, though the sun is
Immortal, at least by the lives of men
And the seasons of the earth; How bright
Is the darkness when the frozen cold
Entombs in ice every last thing under
The demure moon; and perhaps the sleet
Is her tears in her lonely night
And endless track across the heaven
Like the road which was and is and will
Be; sometimes but a suggestion
But now a long, tired procession
Across the chilled face of the ground
Where the cars breath without sound
Of word or idea the inner man fought
It was time to hibernate, we thought.

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