Softly, as snow has lain
in the boughs of the tree.
Your closeness surely provides
tranquility to me.
Not any single flower
nor garden's scented bouquet
could out-perfume your presence
here with me that day.
Never has a blossom
bloomed so very bright
as to my empty fingers
imagination's delight.
But, like the sun
as it slowly melts the snow,
a warmth stayed in my dream
till its final fading glow.
Del Cano 2002 November 22
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