The Treachery of Hope
One memory keeps haunting me:
The day when winter died.
So much white grief.
Could it be other, I thought,
With high snows all round?
You came and stayed with me for a while.
I can still feel how weary you were.
We talked about the thaw of cold hours
And the treachery of hope:
`The meadows outside - the meadows', you said,
Pointing to the mountain of snow,
`The meadows of white are enchanting young
Women, fast bending their steps
Towards the tenements of their dreams.'
But I mocked you, and how sad I made you.
`Such beautiful meadows they are ...';
Again you spoke, forgetting what I had said.
One of you - I don't remember who - was embroidering
A tablecloth of stunning damask;
We took it and laid it over the immaculate
Immensity of white.
Then we dined together.