To a lady
You were the station on a cold December morning.
You were the wind.
The snow: your teeth. Your mind: the roaming
Train, a southbound substitute for home.
I was the glamour of a Christmas Tree, the candle.
My duty was to vanish after I
Had reached the brightness of a falling star
That vainly touched the sky and dimmed away.
But spring time came; our icy ivy
Surrendered to the burnings of July.
The Ides of August caught you on San Marco
While I was kicking beer cans in the dark.
The station is deserted this December,
Warm winds are calm.
I smoke another glowworm candle
Before I ride the pole bound train.
I do not wish for you to follow.
You could not live a day within my heart.
The storm would weather you.
Oh, don't turn even once to smile farewell.
To a lady
- tom.d.stiller
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