ICICLES
Our summer smiles and love sighs
withered along with the star flowers
at the first yawns and signs of weariness
of nature’s luscious dance of transition.
Our pond’s ripples reflected happiness
before the cold winds created a frown
on the truthful mirror of our souls
and the waters swallowed our glow.
The velvet carpet of brilliant green
where we used to dance and dream,
archived upon distant memory shelves
and buried under thick layers of ice.
This love was thought to be eternal
forever blessed and kissed by the stars
meant to parade in daylight for all to see
in its airy elegance and swanlike purity.
Now my lonely steps resound in the night
the white willows are heavy with icicles
dangling from the branches like moonlit lamps
as if solemnly celebrating our own hibernated light.
Will you visit again this place where we froze
to ice statues upon streams of sudden pain?
Will we once more breathe universe together
and resurrect our love into a second Spring?
Thank you Inda for bringing back Margherita's beautiful poem.
