In murky, dusky twilight
with shadows all around
I stand before the marble stone
above you in the ground

I sense your spirit hovering
and lingering nearby
and through the death shroud covering
You ask 'Why don't you cry?'

I cannot cry a single tear
My love died long ago
and I am not in mourning, dear,
that's why they do not flow

I merely came to say goodbye
Your shade gave me a start
I do hope that you like the stone
It is a work of art

Your grave is o'erlaid with snow
so beautiful to see
but pale and hard and bitter cold
just like your love for me.

Is that you I hear crying, dear?
Your spirit now departs?
We are the dead of winter, dear,
with hoarfrost on our hearts.

We are the dead of winter, here,
with hoarfrost on our hearts.

© Alfred W. Smith Jr. 2015