Umbra is the woman I’ve come to loathe,
more each winter, as I wither and grow old.
She was the cool shadow, once, where I’d rest
between beach trips, picnics and warm breasts.

Umbel is the sister I hadn’t met or if I did
ignored her, or worse yet, refused to enjoy
her verdant dress, yellow hats, simple pose;
But I love her now and hate winter when she goes.

John OZ