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HARSH WINTER AND UNDYING LOVE
Winter does strike hard,
Especially at those who live,
Only on memories.
Emily Bronte suffered,
On the barren Yorkshire moors,
As did Keats in Rome.
Heathcliff and Cathy,
Grecian urn and Fanny Braun,
Emmenay and Daphne.
All true spirits we are:
In our poems, stories, novels,
Our inner self we reveal.
Let it snow and rain,
Let cold fury be unleashed,
Our hearts' light still shines.
Our beloved ones breathe,
In our prose profiles and poems,
Our love-embers are warmth.
I often meet Heathcliff,
At peace in Emily's arms,
Emily -- Cathy.
I once rode with Keats,
Braving the blizzard on a coach,
Fanny waits with Daphne.
Created different,
From the rest of this sad world,
Our loves do not die.
