She felt surprised and amazed
when she awakened in a daze
to a world, gone silver and white,
in two short hours: what a sight!
He turned next to her on the sofa bed
and sighed, as in her eyes he read,
something amiss, a storm had hit.
Unexpected, unpredicted while they loved and slept,
it hadn’t quit.
And what might have been nothing but a February shower,
had become an ice storm in an hour.
The trees, the porch, the sidewalks all were glazed and coated.
Sparkling branches were wind chimes that the couple noted.
Hurriedly they dressed as countless times before:
another Tuesday rendezvous, for him, a respite, nothing more.
Her cottage far away and out of sight,
yet perfect for an afternoon delight.
She knew he had a wife and
most certainly another life.
But she thought her love for him forced room
in his heart, and believing that, would seal her gloom.
As always in their six-month-tryst, he made the tea,
precisely twenty minutes before time to leave.
So they had a few more moments, sweet to spend,
before this afternoon must end.
And of course, the tea, his special blend, he always brought and brewed,
served with a sprig or two of mint, he grew.
That day he spoke of things he needed, no … wished to say.
She had hoped that this would be an offer,
to be together in a different way.
And felt sure she would always be,
his sweet admired adoree.
But his words of no-future here; a wife and kids he loved; fun and done;
wounded her like bullets fired from a gun.
Then, on the icy gravel road, his tires crunched,
as she sat with shoulders hunched,
with tears and thoughts that sadness brings
alone with mint and frozen things.