Like the discarded feathers of angels tumbling from heaven, the first flakes fell - and like admirers at court, the drifts came to gather around me.

But it is you I yearn for, you who I would have lie beside me. Will you not accept the rose?

Like the snow, it falls -

- and in the snow, it vanishes. When the thaw comes and the meltwaters recede, will I find it waiting for me there?

Or will it, too be gone?

© 2005, Atra Materia.

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