Cimmerian scenes, rough-etched in ice and snow

Lie draped across the fields—bare, stark and lean;

From ragged hedgerow, desperate shadows flow—

Spilled on white ground, once gold and lushly green.

A feeble sun ignites the icicles

Which melt to diamond tears of vernal joy;

That gelid grip now seems inimical—

As so to draw upon the siege of Troy.

This hint of springtime dripping from the eaves

Turns harrowed thoughts to memories of you

And heartens so a soul that still bereaves

Your long departure—grief’s unchanging hue.

Yet in those gleaming drops some hope to find;

Though you still gone…and winter on my mind.