Winter Sun

With smiles, as false as winter sun,
She tries to hide, what he has done.
And as the doubt drips from his lips,
She eats it up and gaily quips.
She’ll store the tears, until he’s gone
And maybe that will help prolong,
This fantasy, this lovely dream,
So tangible, that it can seem
To be, as she so longs it were -
That he had only love for her.
She well recalls his gentle touch,
Oh God, she misses it so much;
To lie within his arms again,
A moth, drawn to her only flame.
She remembers too his need,
And how he brought her flower's seed.
The love she felt, he can’t deny,
Although determined yet to try.
But she has looked into his heart
And knows, they’ll never truly part.
Why can he not just take the hand
She offers - making no demand -
For all she really asks above
All else, is that he let her love.

Chris Birrane © 2011