Withered hopes and fantastic happings

Release their grip and drift upon the wind

With the hush of solemn snowflakes swirling,

Whisp’ring thy name like a funeral hymn.

Oh, these sparkling crystalline dreams of thee

Melt, bitt’rly, as they light upon my face,

Seeping beneath thick skin to poison me,

Too lonely, too lovely to turn away.

Yet prayer hands’ hammer hath heavy to hold,

Such pleading and beating to break the spell,

Transmute one metal, twice flowers of gold

‘Til torment’s circuit is no more my hell.

Our tree and me and everything we breathe:

An atmosphere of thy sweet memory.