Chatter, as I watch the snowdrops falling It blends in from the street, the pavement, the everything but me and the lonelier soles who walk their own ways in the path Taking their own hands against the cold.
Distances there into and always with the twilight Strings and biscuits in the dawn of the twice Winds pass and monsoons sweep through Often I watch them in the memories of you.
Cross the sidewalks, mirrors, delights Christmas parties and silent enchantments Invisible but dwelling in the darkness of the stars So humbling in all the georgian opacity
I yearn for the lights of the morning essence Dream of the warmth in the hearth of men Assuming in vain the welcome of all night blankets And grieve in the vacancy of the traveller's awe.
Who takes the broom of the closets past Who walks the dawn and evening stars Who fawns over the reflection of the moon Who tells of my works in their brilliant cocoon?