If it were only snow that lay between us
there'd be no problem. I would take my spade
and dig till I uncovered fields as green as
new Spring leaves, and then in an open glade
I'd call to you, my love, to run and kiss
the coldness from my arms, to warm away
the last of frost. How easy to dismiss
all snowscapes with a melting into May.
But there are barriers that enterprise
can't cross. Beyond all logic and mistake
you fear discovery, that icier eyes
might track us down. What difference would it make
had fifty thousand paparazzi seen us -
if it were only snow that lay between us?
If you've any comments on this poem, Helena Nelson would be
pleased to hear from you.