Setting the whole mood of my saunter.

The soft compression beneath my feet.

White rose petals dance from the sky.

The trees, the land, the world

Blanketed in your snowy grace.

It is a shame we only see each other

For the three months.

All seems quiet in the world,

Under your caress.



Embrace me in your sensual cold

To your inviting, all encompassing

air that undresses my breath.

I see

Where others ignore

Stillness in all things

The functions of nature cease for you

This time of year

Not death no

merely stillness

You’re not the end

only the quiet time

The year’s closing paragraph,

And opening statement.

Juxtaposed to the flourish, bombast, and festive.

Internal is your direction


No compulsion upon me,

Swifting in tune with me.

Peace instilled in your very


Calming all our activities

The meditation belongs to you.

Letting the forces of the world flow through me always

You are my temple


I hear your poetry

Softly in my ear.

To many

A frightening howl of a phantom

Rushing through the land and trees

in the ear like and unwanted whisper.

To many.

But I hear

Your voice’s true intentions

Laying there feeling your solemn melodies.


I look to you from inward

From any window.

At your extended gray skies.

And absent white landscape.

And I no longer feel the tension

Of the life I live.

Your silent elegance intune

To my essence.

All the world covered in your still harmony

And my soul in resonance.


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