SOUL SNOW

By John Thomas Tuft

It’s often given names like shroud or blanket

Moisture from above in fractal patterns displayed

Floating and falling in the music of the wind

On a cold winter’s night, I wish I had stayed.

She said, “it’s cold outside” as she handed me my coat

I remember the flame of the candle danced

The cuckoo clock on the wall didn’t bother to announce

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, love takes a chance.

Sitting on a bench under robed trees in the park

Sleepy pigeons seem impatient for me to go

I’m silently praying there’s light still burning in her window

On a cold winter’s night, lost in the soul snow.