Winter Sonnet

The snow, like Narnian lilting lamplit flakes
falls soft, while I, small Lucy, blinking brown
lashes, glad of cold and gentle kisses
(like brushing butterflies that whisper down
their windy sighs on frosty cheeks) hold out
my hand: I grasp the gleam of stars and ice
and moon behind the murky milk of clouds
that spills across the dark space of the night.
Meanwhile I walk and wonder-wander through
the hours and glinting boot-tracks of the day
left lonely, lingering now with crumpled leaves
that cling, forgotten, lost and still. Yet they
await the wind-blown bow to tune and wake
their rasping viol: sings heart-winter-ache.