Except

I haven't got a thing to say, except:
One, hockey is better than basketball,
Watching or playing; two, I love the fall,
As seasons go, the best; three, I have wept
At shows that were emotionally inept,
Because I'm such a sweet mark, after all;
Four, worlds are turning; five, my heart is small,
And redolent of promises unkept.

Does all this fit together neatly? No,
The world was never neat. Theory might be,
And I am flummoxed by complexity,
But multitudes constrain me, living slow
And burning out my chances. Let it snow,
And let it rain; I'm shining, finally.