But its warmth was beyond her reach,
As the iced winds pushed against her
With the fury of an angry mob.
Though she sat quietly observing nature
She felt her intrusion disrupting,
Then a flock of rowdy starlings
Swooped in to the treetops around her.
She thought of her younger years
When dreams were gathered together,
And of her later years, when dreams
gathered dust like unused porcelain.
Then of her last years when dreams
Became the past and released to fly away,
Like a lovely group of mourning doves
Taking flight in a rush of wings.
She thought she’d take a rest from thought
And enjoy this commonest of days,
To let the spirit of winter embrace her
In its cloak of hallow sweet nothings.
She lingered awhile longer
Until she wore a crown of golden twilight,
And drifted in quiet acquiescence
As she sighed the softest of wistful sighs.