I confess it: this morning, I forgot.
Barely half awake, I left our bed
to watch the snow come down. And what a sight!
The earth all ermine, no defiling blot
anywhere. The sky, yesterday lead,
had harvested its jasmines overnight.
Gone, the earliest green; but there was light
from where numberless twirling petals sped
bewildered. A ghostly circle burned
faintly behind their dance: the sun! Not dead:
struggling to shine, to thaw the wintry clot,
to feed the green for which, in life, you yearned.
How glad I was! And said so, as I turned—
still smiling—to my bed, where you were not.