The deep December in my lonely heart
cannot thaw out the frost of missing you;
where once you were its warm and sunny part,
prevailing emptiness now freezes through.

Your absence spreads like ice through all my veins,
and arms that once held you against my chest
embrace the cold, for only cold remains;
and love's remains have, too, been laid to rest.

Some tell me that the sun of summer soon
will once again return my heart to red;
but I'm more moved by winter's waning moon,
alone and pale in Heaven's darkened bed.

Dear death, why cover me with winter's pall?
My love, you're still my summer, spring, and fall.

 © Michael D. Petti

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