Let someone do the talking 

There isn’t much that remains

At the end of a winter’s day

I can only hear old age

The snapping of a bone

Like a door creaking

In a sad home

The squeaking hinges need oiling

I can sense the joint aches

Palms on the knees

I can imagine that circular motion

I don’t imagine any conversation

Everyone is too deaf inside the house

To make the effort

To talk to each other

There isn’t much that remains

At the end of a winter’s day

I can’t hear the dogs

It’s too cold for them to bark

Too cold to mate

It hasn’t snowed all season

The cynics didn’t propose on New Year’s Eve

Obdurate loves aren’t fading from memory

The leaves are ashen in protest

Take my word

Or

I can show them to you

First thing in the morning