Winterend – a poem

Let me in to your lamentation,
The song of snowmelt in your sigh.
Spring rain falls soft on cherry blossom,
Early this year – or late for your epiphany.
An exhalation beautiful as blood,
Scenery washed by sunrise.

A time to mourn, a time to dance,
A time between the never and the now.

We were older then, and we forgot;
Our eyes half met, our fingers barely touched.
The river knows and keeps her secrets;
Small things survive
While others fade away.
The swallows will come soon.

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