We chose the house simply,
On a slight rise surrounded by nature,
Tight against winter chill.
Inside Chopin, good wine, warmth,
The voice of the fireplace a whisper,
Its heart beat, a pulsating heat.
We have climbed life’s mountain, together,
Hand-in-hand, helping, sometimes waiting.
The scent of us is mingled in the night,
A winter storm beats on the door,
We will not let it in, it is not welcome.
Winter is the change, the long sleep,
The blanket of snow preserving the spring.
We will look out our windows in May,
There will be flowers dancing with color,
Like memories stored, they live in belief.
We have always believed in another spring,
Nature’s reward for surviving winter.
Beside me on the couch I see you,
Your smile sweeps the cob webbed years away,
My wine glass empty, yours left untouched.
Though the hours only receive my breath,
I know you are there, patient as always.
These memories of you, small fragments of life,
But they are all I have and that is enough,
Their inner light pushing darkness away.
When sleep finds me, I will dream of you,
Holding you through the winter night once again.
Copyright: 2009, Donald Harbour