Sighing softly, she looks out
the window, waiting for a sign of life.
There were no birds singing,
no dogs barking.
Winter is such a dead time.
The dark skeletons of a long-sleeping
grove of trees fade against a grey sky.
No, she thinks. No one will come.
Such is the life of the
winter’s mistress.
Held captive by the diamond-like ice
and silently dusting snow,
but longing for the rescue of love.
–1990
chimerawrites 