Cocksure Whistler

Showers shimmy like the rain’s bombast
And the cocksure whistlers up the autumn mast
Blows the leaves on by with a lazy breath
A puckered wisdom and violence of a season
Showers icy but the streets are chalk
Like the cocksure whistler’s on a winter walk
Calls the snow like father with a frozen gait
He’ll sell your joys for a fireplace
For the season