Summer days are past
The way we were
Lost in dimming days
Of rose scented gardens
Frost has taken the perfume
And taken you with it too
Hard to remember a time
When I did not have your hand
In mine, warm and secure
Hands are now frostbitten
From the untouched chill
Falling snow fills the landscape
A canvas of white, unwritten
Choices ready to write the verse
Of future episodes
In this living book