October 2007

            
The Poetry of Mara
            Meade


            


            That You Could Be With Me In Winter

            
Oh that you could be with me,

            see with me

            in winter!

            We'd whisper-walk the piney woods

            to find the sheltered pond.

            There, lichen-covered granite juts

            into the ice-paned hollow

            as the frosted, swirl'd opaque design

            veils worlds of deep beyond.

            
Oh that you could sing with me,

            wing with me

            in winter!

            We'd rise the northern winds and soar

            above the snow-soft earth;

            paint brittle blue with feathers dipped

            in clouds from the horizon

            and tumble softly back to gentle promise

            of re-birth.

            
Oh that you would turn with me,

            burn with me,

            in winter!

            To melt as snowflakes on the tongues

            of flaming golden oak;

            and so to join the smouldered fire

            of coal'd and burning fervor,

            and rise, unfurl and dance as one

            in wisps of curling smoke.

            
Oh, that you could be with me,

            be with me

            in winter.