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Frost

By Mary E. Adair


(copyright 1995, Mary E. Adair, "FROST")

(First published in 1997 by Hobbie$, Etc., the 3-D parent publication of Pencil Stubs Online)

While fingers of frost crept across the lawn,
Came the time of remembering just before dawn,
I dreamt of you, your eyes of blue,
And most of all, your words untrue.
But first came the scenes of love's delight
When we pledged our troth and all was right.
When kisses were warm, without alarm,
Making plans that we thought nothing could harm.

    Could it have been different--we'll never know.
    Frosty fingers of memory fill my heart with snow,
    Telling me, it had to be,
    And I really did have to go.

Then the scenes flash by, though the years were many,
While you tested my faith, 'til I didn't have any.
The children grew, and trusted you,
But words of truth dwindled to a few.
And I with my petty cries of grief,
Never giving your mind a bit of relief
From stress and strain--with a job to maintain--
And sometimes just living in a haze of pain,

    Could it have been different--we'll never know.
    Frosty fingers of memory fill my heart with snow,
    Telling me, it had to be,
    And I really did have to go.

Our children, victims of love grown cold,
Still sob in the night, or so I've been told--
Eyes grown old, from lies too bold--
They remember with pain the way you would scold.
They walk forth in the world and trust no one--
For we showed them what "trust" had done.
Don't marry again, shun the pain,
As if we had meant to, their minds we did train.

    Could it have been different--we'll never know.
    Frosty fingers of memory fill my heart with snow,
    Telling me, it had to be,
    And I really did have to go.

Adding to the turmoil within your heart--
Building the wedge that drove us apart--
You felt for me--jealousy--
That I looked not around, you could not see.
I dream it now, a postmortem of stress,
We turned our marriage into a mess,
As I begin to wake, I begin to shake,
Thanking God for the changes He helped me to make.

    Could it have been different--we'll never know.
    Frosty fingers of memory fill my heart with snow,
    Telling me, it had to be,
    And I really did have to go.

I shiver, as thoughts fly backward in time,
That I'd forgive, I'd have not bet a dime--
But maturity--add, security,
And a new love that cured my heart with its purity;
All the lessons taught by surviving disgrace
And plans gone awry for our children to face--
I know now you're dead, an accident, I read,
And sadness comes as I think of the life that you led--

    Could it have been different--we'll never know.
    Frosty fingers of memory fill my heart with snow,
    Asking me, did it have to be
    And, did I really have to go?
 

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