when I fell in love there was a thaw:
streams running (mostly salt), and at some cost
there was a general melt of permafrost:
cracked foundations, shifted roadways, broken laws.
but all among the mud and mess were seen
tentative, tender, marginal shoots of green.
but in the sharp and Arctic breath of No,
streams skin over, slow, their music ceases;
even salt spray eventually freezes.
the tundra's firm and reliable under snow.
the gaudy green is gone, winter comes home
in understated, tasteful monochrome.no mud, no mess, no chaos: no birds sing.
I doubt if I may see another Spring.
-- GPL Feb 2006 D. A. Clarke