Winter Grievance

The scattered snow
on the icy lake
lay still.
The song of the sparrow
drowned out by the sorrows
of my heart,
on that forsaken
December morning.

Her love, no more than a ghost
now,
like the whispers of the wind
in the trees, or the trickle of the stream
by my house,
where it happened.

Too much
left unsaid, unheard.
A pain too deep and too strong
left in her place,
in my heart.

The sun bled through the trees
and the clouds,
as I sat alone,
waiting.
For what, I did not know.

I remembered the sweet calm of her voice,
the grace of her touch.

There was a second
when through the trees
came a whisper,
from the forgotten lullaby of my youth,
offering me its comfort.

It was no more than a glance
or a subtle wave,
but it was her
and that's all that mattered.