Scolding Reflections

November 15, 2010
The dead cold of winter

Paints her stony image
Of a love, long lost, I dream

Of your Arabian night
Of your hot, Indian sun
And me-
Closed in dark, alone

Do I weep to this winter
And does it feel my pain
It is cold outside, and I in

Or do I hold her locked inside
Till’ another rainstorm comes
Till’ another summer begins

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