Chris and Rollo

Chris and Rollo

Saturday, April 17, 2010


As far as my eye could see,
My eye, my frozen tearing, tired eye,
As it pleaded with the distances to close,
Down the empty expanse of Flatland’s Avenue
To the distant dark bay, no headlight
Broke the silent monotony of the snowy night,
No bus, no taxi, no motorist
Of any kind detected in my despairing view;
Thus, by no means, it seemed, except
By one frozen foot put forward, then the other,
Right, left, right, in turn one another,
Rhythm broken only in each frozen puddle leapt
Lest I should land ankle deep in the icy sludge
And then would I fear I should never again budge
From that spot that would bring my frigid death
This night so far from home, a victim
Of Love's gallant foolishness, to see the lady
Home in safety, knowing the long road home
Would be barren, lonely and cold,
Transport unplanned and unforthcoming
As all would-be venturers into the night
This night stayed home, risking not being stranded
Or worse, afoot in the ever deepening icy white,
Clinging wet, frosty bite of winter's nipping fang;
As all half-planned thought would assure
An alternative plan, Love's hasty nobility
Assures nothing but the worst fate could procure,
Which would be proof of love's fragility,
Its memory enough to warm my frost bitten toes.

© Celeste Plowden 2010

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