Winter.

I stand beside nude trees,

under a bare sky.

It’s cobalt-coloured – like stripped-bare dreams;

it’s leaden, and naked of life.

The Pavilion is risen tall;

its grandeur all too clear.

If you’d like to take a winter stroll,

why don’t you meet me here?

My skin is chilled

and my dreams hang low –

like a frosty, morning fog.

And I pine for you,

in grumbled tones –

after my keeper,

like a dog.

If you should see me upon the pavement

with desolate-looking eyes,

know there’s a sparkle present

and, because of you, my tears have dried.

And I feel I’m not kidding myself

with the undulations of my mind.

No matter what my temperament,

I know you’ll soothe me in tones kind.

The sky is cobalt-blue

and the leaves are in dank piles.

But I’ll walk these paths with you –

and I’ll walk them for miles.