Where weeping willows brush the snow
Light-falling from the powdered sky
As Mother Hulda makes her bed -
Wisp-feathered love soft-falls from high
...
My ears are quite open
To what you confess
Pray, am I worth more now?
Or are you worth less?
...
Beats flutter
On highways oft traveled
Borne loft on an air
That weaves in the Distance –
...
The clouds take on red-rosy tints
And blush below the sun’s soft gaze
They glow beneath its dying rays
And blithely flash the borrowed glints
...
Snow
Where weeping willows brush the snow
Light-falling from the powdered sky
As Mother Hulda makes her bed -
Wisp-feathered love soft-falls from high
The swirling flakes borne loft in eddies
Brush against a cold-stung cheek
So gentle are the sharp caresses
Piercing for a touch so meek
How frigid is the soft-sweet touch
That laces twixt the lashes lowered
Causing shocks and short-lived tingles
Numbing pain that is a pleasure
Moistened corners gather droplets,
Rivulets that shun the glare
And bursts that punctuate the plane
Which dazzle off one’s troubled cares