Winter Cold

He loved her deeply; and mourned her smile; for love would
Pine the shadows; and she drew the pain, a cleek and bone;
And she gnawed the wind, tooth and tongue; and such
Mockery, a pack of wolves; and such presence, a burning
 
Furnace; and he crawled the floor, and climbed the air; but love
Dined the exosphere; and thus the sorrow, a book of prose;
And thus the tear, a passion shy. She pleaded father: let us be;
But paint and mud smeared the walls; and wooden hearts, a

Symbol fair: a box of wands: a web of threads; for such is love,
A moment’s kiss: a whittled brick: a weathered love. He
Spoke of dreams: a maiden’s hand: her father snarled—a
Ransom gold; and empty pots, a writhing soul: a need to till—
The furthest hills. But fairest love, the ebb of souls: “we must
Elope, a winter cold.”