The snow falls in earnest

  It dampens all noise around

  As if earth itself respects the peace

  And refuses to make a sound

  What’s natural and simple

  What’s plentiful to the prurient

  Is only found here on the ground

  For those who wish to find it

  I lay myself below the trees

  In an attempt to be a part

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Of the serenity so gentle

  That I can’t even hear my heart

  I think about her quite a lot

  Under those still trees

  And I wish she’d be as easy to read

  As the patterns on their leaves

  I think about her quite a lot

  And whether she too

  Is gathering snow under her collar

  And freezing in her boots

  What does my name mean to her?

  I fool myself to think

  That it’s become more than just syllables

  Or hasty splatters of ink

  I know that I can’t love her

  And I do well to stay far

  But on this night of waning light

  It’s just me and the stars

  I don’t expect her warmth

  I merely wish she knew

  The spiky gates around her face

  Still hurt me all the way through

  And oh god they hurt

  They hurt and hurt

  And the hurt never goes away

  They hurt and tear

  And squeeze and pull

  And the hurt NEVER goes away

  There is no warmth under these trees

  But yet I feel so warm

  Because to think of this as a snow globe

  Makes everything feel small