Improvisations: Light And Snow: 09

This girl gave her heart to me,

And this, and this.

This one looked at me as if she loved me,

And silently walked away.

This one I saw once and loved, and never saw her again.

Shall I count them for you upon my fingers?

Or like a priest solemnly sliding beads?

Or pretend they are roses, pale pink, yellow, and white,

And arrange them for you in a wide bowl

To be set in sunlight?

See how nicely it sounds as I count them for you —

‘This girl gave her heart to me

And this, and this, . . . !

And nevertheless, my heart breaks when I think of them,

When I think their names,

And how, like leaves, they have changed and blown

And will lie, at last, forgotten,

Under the snow.