The night holds me in a cold embrace
drawing its icy fingers across my skin
freezing my thoughts in their tracks
caressing my lips with frosty kisses.
I think of the look in your eyes
as we said farewell at the station
so like the night in its warmth, and
I shudder with the realisation
of what I have done to your love
that was beginning to blossom for me.
Like Jack Frost on a late winter’s morn
I have killed the first flower of Spring.
© S. McLean 1994
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