Love In Winter
The trees were barren, bony, bare,
no single leaf to flutter there.
My days were frigid, raw with frost,
the balm of summer long since lost.
And then a murmur, brief yet pure,
your whispered loving, mild and sure—
the winter's bluster; frozen, bleak,
is softened as when angels speak.
[written for you, B—
thank-you for softening my winter]
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