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