Sonnet 3: The Cool, White Snow

The cool, white snow falls gently on the lawn
and chilliness hangs solid in the air
I gaze from off my perch upon the stair
and use my hand to stop my headstrong yawn.

I wait for him impatiently for now
my cloak, a blanket for my shiv'ring limbs
and scold myself for all my foolish whims
do nothing for the worry in my brow

a part of me expects to see him there
waving at me beyond the garden gate
he'd run and say, "I'm sorry that I'm late,
I'm here now though to show you that I care."

The cool, white show falls gently on the lawn
alone I sit with truth that he is gone.

Copyright 2005 Princess Blogonoke