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Bears With Lasers
2006-11-27, 06:41 AM
I am glad for the stone walls
that keep, barely,
the wind at bay; outside, there is snow
on the withered apple trees.
We shall have a white Christmas, which,
once, you remembered to me,
and tossed a single long apple peel
over your shoulder, although
you never did look at it
once it landed.
One branch still bears
a winter apple, small and bitter like
the memory of an empty fall,
all of its golden brethren
gone, and my youth with them.
I have seen colder winters than this,
but, too, have had
warmer fires; yet,
the coals still glow, and yes,
I am cold, but
I have been colder in the winter.
I drink tea that cannot be called hot
anymore, and, for the first time,
I remember your mouth
without bitterness;
sipping a meager warmth,
I begin the long wait
for spring.