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First Snowfall

Just before you passed on, we were a solemn song;
We knew you were dying, and the sorrow
Accompanied us on that sidewalk all along.
We were shopping; we looked at the window displays;
The children’s laughter only amplified woe;
I couldn’t accept you were married to snow.
You had shared your passion as does red wine,
And I assumed somehow that you were mine.
But now that I see the first snowfall of the year,
I must say much since then has been made quite clear.
The first years carried cross and lament,
But only because I gave them my consent.
I didn’t cry for you, not for you;
I cried for myself, from possessiveness, fear.
I watch the first snowfall: now there is no woe,
For I see that, like you, I’m married to snow.
It embraces no memories, but passionate death;
My deeds will unfurl brilliantly from you
Who is everywhere descending with loving breath.

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