On Red and Snow

(Thought the season has passed, a little poem on the feeling that always lingers on)

I had a list I wrote on the snow

Of everything I thought I had

And everything I thought I’d get

The list grew bigger and larger and wider and

I thought I’d never finish

Because I kept recalling more

When the months together went, to gather around the fire

And warm themselves up and rotate again

I would spot the one in red

I’d cross the stream, the mounds, tumble and fall

From the distance I’d would say “Where are the things that I wrote for?”

They wouldn’t see me, nor notice me,

They would ignore me, or so it seemed

They’d watch the fire, they’d play some games

For them I was less than their steam

I’d then conjure another list, a bigger, longer, meaner list

Though halfway through I would desperately know

That I’d be getting nothing, getting no more; the cycle being the same

So then I’d cry

Tears

White

And I’d curse realms and castles and fairies and months

I’d throw the list and walk away

They, then, would come in torrents and they would come in waves

A dozen kisses, a hundred pats on the back

A thousand hugs, some here, some there

Furtive, surprising

Smiling would find its way back to my face and more

Dozens of hands and links and views

“Though I really got nothing to show”

Empty handed I would say, and this they would ignore

And the realms and the castles and the fairies and months would return

Grateful at large, a day not foretold

Now I’ve given up on lists for a long time

Old habits die hard though; they are simply hard to shove but

Now I won’t fear to say it’s not about the show

It might be nothing else than hearts and hands and warmth but

Now I would dare to say that all you need is love

Preferably dressed in red, and green, and snow…

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