© G.V. 12/14/2012, All Rights Reserved( octasyllabic form)
Blunt is the winter season's cold;
resembles a theatric play,
the nuptial quilt, white cares to lay,
inside my verse, times to enfold.
And as the snowflakes dance with joy,
embraced is that conceived garden,
where past of years our lives bargain,
- best flight in clouds the tears deploy.
Outside musicians walk on road,
with brass trumpets strange tunes they play,
like soldiers left on mountain fray,
ghosts greet me with melodious laud.
In front of them I see her dance,
and snow flakes fly beyond my stare,
her flight transmits to meadow fare,
for passengers who felt her glance.
How beautiful 's this cold - ideal,
in soul I feel her dance's reach,
her hands she opens in the mists,
dimensions she unfolds surreal.
In ancient times she was a bloom,
became a thorn's glistening red,
she was my faith while winters shed
snow's bridal quilt - I was her groom.
© G.V. 12/14/2012