The Windsong

Winter advances in age
Skeletal fingers in frozen decay
Touch me; All the rage
Of the summer sun melts away.

I stand in the silence of clarity.
I see you, in the beauty and the biting cold,
Breathing through the disparity
Of seasons turned, and youth turned old.

Wispy exhales of hope and yearning
Mourning moments that have not been
Snowdrifts of lost nostalgia churning,
Swirled and stilled by a disquiet wind.

I miss you
Twinkling in the warmth of joy and proximity.
I exist in these moments, undone and overdue,
Mingled from conception to infinity

And I am Yours
Whatever I have been, I am still.
Weathered storms, lonely roads and crowded wars,
But I feel you here in the hushed chill,

And I love you still.