I hear first snow falling,
Fat white whispers
Geese flying in hurried vees
The high warm drafts of August
long gone;
Alone here in my van Winkle doze
I pull my quilt in close
It's faded cloth dimly sweet
And you cross my mind --
Our huddled adventures that
Cold year when the world
was you and I
When a thousand sparkling zeroes
lit our path.
We were legendary --
April's city of hope, its emerald
promises, so far away;
I shall doze in the poppies meantime
And cherish the winter moon's
longing to hold me tight --
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 8:51 AM UTC
I hear first snow falling,
Fat white whispers
Geese flying in hurried vees
The high warm drafts of August
long gone;
Alone here in my van Winkle doze
I pull my quilt in close
It's faded cloth dimly sweet
And you cross my mind --
Our huddled adventures that
Cold year when the world
was you and I
When a thousand sparkling zeroes
lit our path.
We were legendary --
April's city of hope, its emerald
promises, so far away;
I shall doze in the poppies meantime
And cherish the winter moon's
longing to hold me tight --
Winter is coming. . . .