Hoarfrost Poem by Cee Bea

there is no beauty

only perceived idealism
is left for me

I search to often
for your house, and often
find it abandoned
while you are, lavished upon,
and in the arms of forest green

So I shrug off another
loss, quietly returning
to my agenda of average need

yet in the sight you see my jealous nature,
wishing I found the hoarfrost-
you gently offer
a smile, a place for me
with you, in a moment as grand
as any moment could be