Misty mornings     make one cold
when the weather,    windy again
dries the drops     of dew and.. damn
it’s cold, cold I     cry. A cold
snap! It snows,     snailing flakes
of white, water’s     wintry form.

Surely sheets of     shimmering white
won’t thaw. This night     of thistle.. no! Mistle-
toe, when two will     touch their lips and
kiss, as Christmas     comes this winter.

I stop my stream     of steaming thoughts
and walk my way     to work. Oh damn
I cry, I echo     my call. That day
is far, too far     but fear I don’t:

My thoughts will thaw    this thinning ice.

(With thanks to HL)