The cold grey day helps the eye clear,
But with that, old boned torments draw near;
I fear we packed too light.
This short journey now seems a gamble,
With melancholy in the bramble
There, hiding in plain sight.
Your cheek is cold to the touch, and red.
And I think of stopping, but instead
I reach for your gloved hand
And pick up the pace, in hopes that speed
And love pressed through leather meet the need
Of warmth our souls demand.
The mind searches elsewhere when in pain,
And I think of a time; then in rain,
When the children were small,
And together we ran for the house;
It's the smell of their hair, your soaked blouse,
And laughter I recall...
Chaotic baths, dogs barking, clothes strewn
About, but around the fireplace soon
Scrubbed and safe once again.
Time turns the past to rose-tinged dream
Giving joy, and making it seem
Always summer-time then.
Now we turn home again, though more frail,
Turning up our coats, we two assail
This bitter winter cold.
Though no one waits like they did then
There'll be a fire for us again;
And I'll have your hand to hold.
