Monday, June 26, 2017

Winter Love
By
Sophie Wilde


If I never see your summer face
I’ll want for nothing.
For I have found a winter love
and I am smitten.

I revel in your wild and westly winds
that push and pull me, playing rough.
And the cold kiss of you,
raining on my face and
tearing at my eyes,
I welcome.

In June your moon
is bright at five
when night, though adolescent,
is man enough to take her out.

And I go walking in that
early evening-afternoon
where everything is etched in
silence after rain.
In that stillness I can hear
your misty whispers in the hair of
nearby hills
And catch the creak of water seeping
underground.
I see you sliding drop
by silver drop
amidst the folding grasses
and linger limpid on leaf and limb
around.

How do you do that?
breezing from the rolling sea
that’s somehow warmer than the cold I walk in,
to gently brush my face
and lift my hair in
passing (as though God were passing)
to let me know you’re there.

What summer light could hint
at how you glint
in winter, when the sea is beaten
silver by a wind that’s torn the sky to
shreds, and left the clouds all
piled in clumps so weirdly
shaped, and coloured every hue
from black to white, peach grey and golden blue?
Dear Sweet you do amaze me!

Ah truly do I love
your winter wooing;
I’m not waiting for a summer song to win
my heart.

Coromandel, June 1996





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