Now the winter reaches in with
Razor edged hands,
Clasps the browning leaves
And yanks the last remnants of
Summer down
To the chilling ground
And I am like a forgotten August sunset
Dripping tears of crimson and gold
Along the gray horizon
And the earth is shifting slow,
Turning away

From a love that could have been

If there ever was an eternal summer
As gardens set deep within
The Misty Mountains
A certain holiness repressed
Beneath the depths of impenetrable glacial walls.

I have called for your voice across the frigid tundra
But it is as lost
As it ever was.

The songbirds cry

And oh, how I have known them long
A little girl
Reaching for their hearts behind the ephemeral whispers
Of the song

Winter’s fog descends like burial cloth  
And they are gone.