Winter’s Wife

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He had married her on a dark winter’s morning when hope burned low

And his prospects were dim. Yet her piety to him like the gold of Araby

Shone in a heart ablaze with fire by which to warm cold thoughts

As in the grey light of day the months rolled past, then years,

And the bottom line translated meager rewards

And more mouths to feed though she sang what light was given her

Into a wondrous fount from which he drank greedily,

Shunning all but his own despairing gaze.

 

Until that day

The accountant raced to greet him at the door

When scarce he had reached it, pumping his hand

Like a slot machine delivering countless zeros

In cash, turning heads until there were none

Who were not his friends and the spinning world settled

Into a long summer’s day. No longer did the wife of winter

Hold her charms, for who would want Christ

In Aladdin’s cave, and light and fire

In the heat of day where garden paths like mazes

Run into evenings in tasteful palaces and carnival feasts.

Here, a kneeling wife at prayer beside a deserted bed

Haunts his mind, she whose want of dark zeros

Pull through the air

Warm notes of winter.

 

 

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