The snow has all but gone now
yielding to a new day's cruel rape and thaw
that stole your footprints from my view
as if you were never here at all
and our uncrossed path seems dark and defiled
stripped of it's flimsy virgin cloak as,
beneath an overhang of weeping boughs,
drenched in their sad lament I walk.
we never got to build our snowman,
that dream was flushed by sober weather
and swept from view down raging streams
to swollen pools where lost dreams gather.
but that is not how I choose to remember...
The snow is all but gone, and 'though
we never got to build our snowman,
in my mind I like to think
and believe we did...
and will again.
