In her every room: shadows
Cast in those moments I have never shared;
Whose the laughter, whose the hand
That gestures to leave impressions
Upon her favourite velvet dress?
 

Chilling - this cold of evening
Which, as my memories, makes me not wish
To stay
But cycle away, fearing what I might do.
In the dark, I sit
While a river, swollen, passes
Not gently
By.
It is my soul, this river -
Swirling, of tempest and full:
Perhaps more exertion will lay a part
Of my love to rest.
 

I had gone, unannounced, unexpected,
To see them kiss as they stood
Near her window.

Each false Spring is a lesson
Which Nature slowly learns
As harsh Winter in returned
When stark frost, chilling,
Creeps to crack some bursting buds:
Poems cannot change this
Just as Summer is not Summer
Without Spring -
 

        I am Winter,
        Until woken by Spring