Winter lady in the park

Underneath bare branches, adorned with ice

Late in the evening, tired light

Has halted from a trickle, to a flow.

And so surreal, it shifting, flickers

Across Her face, so worn by waiting here.

How the motes of shadow run and play

Within curls that seem past ready to fall away.

As surely too, they dwell

Deep beneath dark eyes, and in

Lines etched by time, and loss, and fear

That, since having been so bold and proud, are now

Warm and crinkly with care.

And wiry, those pale locks

Like swan feathers

Tossed by wind, and snow today

Turn not white, nor spare.

And longingly remain, as she remains

The ashen gray of memories

Memories that fade.

I'll wait with her, in the snow today

Beneath these branches, bare.