What use is this winter dawn in
its three colours of black, white and gray,
when you are not here
sipping your morning coffee,
talking about how you slept your night;
when the happy-go-lucky dog,
back inside from leaving
her pawprints giddily across the yard,
has not brought with her snow
to melt on the kitchen floor?
What use are these words
I am writing now, these words
lasting a shorter time
than the memory of pawprints
on the freshly fallen snow,
and the shape of you,
still moving, in memories
uniting the decades, across
the room in which you,
four years ago, died?
06.02.2021
Ei kommentteja:
Lähetä kommentti