If only that we would stay our tongues
That slither round and upon
The words we never wanted to whisper.
Much can be left unsaid,

Broken
         thoughts
among        
a blizzard
                      And cast into
.lead.
.         .
  .                .
.                         .
Hindered by the fall.
We call into the gloom.
A hand reaching out beyond
That ashen white hue.
Too late she says,
You have had your say,
Your heart and mind
Have had their way.
Each day now lays cold
Whether due to winters weather
Or a chance lost to the storm,
Of which I'm none to sure.
I shall sip on silence
And guard my tongue,
For now and ever more.