Winter in Dunbarton

Time smiling on this sundial of a world
Corrupted the snow-monster and the worm,
Ransacker of shard statues and the peers
Of Europe; but our cat is cold, is curled
For rigor mortis: she no longer smears
Her catnip mouse from Christmas; the germ,
Mindless and ice, a world against our world,
Hurtles her round of brains into her ears;

This winter only snowmen turn to stone:
And, sick of the long hurly-burly, rise
Like butterflies into Jehovah’s eyes
And shift until their crystals must atone