Not stomping 'I love you' in the snow


Goose-stepping would be more in line --

cremating wheat fields gone white,


send frozen sparks into gray sky.

Something fierce to clear my heart.


Make me me see stomping

never holds, YOU melts by dawn.


I should know love moves on,

freeze feet in dizzy prance,


scorch every phrase I wrote,

drifts of words, flattened now,


not breathing, though in a row.

I recall she always hated snow,


thought romance the best fiction,

was quick to pack and go.

                               Timothy Pilgrim