Improvisations Light And Snow 09

This girl gave her heart to me,

And this, and this.

This one looked at me as if she loved me,

And silently walked away.

This one I saw once and loved, and never saw her again.

Shall I count them for you upon my fingers?

Or like a priest solemnly sliding beads?

Or pretend they are roses, pale pink, yellow, and white,

And arrange them for you in a wide

To be set in sunlight?

See how nicely it sounds as I count them for you —‘This girl gave her heart to

And this, and this, . . . !

And nevertheless, my heart breaks when I think of them,

When I think their names,

And how, like leaves, they have changed and

And will lie, at last, forgotten,

Under the snow.