The north wind blows on loners' date,
dusk cold of February and dark,
strange ghosts remember us - they hark,
we met on moors, one verse too late.
On wharf stray winds, wild bark - like dogs,
alone I wait - on time's frontier,
from this devoid - alive once Pier,
whereon you smiled to winter fogs.
And it is strange to feel you there,
you never left the winds' long call;
I feel your flow in veins to haul,
a string of tales - nostalgic fare.
And you appear - a wraith in mind,
that distant smiles with blue soft eyes,
gray clouds and snow from low hung skies,
- how doleful meet our dusks and twine!
The night ascribes - pure quilt of snow,
so much quietness falls and dearth,
regales the emptiness of earth
and solitude of our time's tow.
Moon harbinger you'll spring to fore,
if you appear, my life will shine,
a conferred love will wave to mine,
bloom-scented winds will reach Pier Four.
entering Andrea's contest "into the gloaming"