Seasons: Winter (Now That We're Old)

The lights spun to a foreign sound In swirls I swore not to forget; Two children like old lovers bound From whose own hearts had been begot.

Wishing in secret it were so, Holding you as if for the last, Because forever long ago Had our time already passed.

My poetry could not please you, Yet I so wanted you to be pleased, Which left to linger childish doubts No verse could ever put at ease.

Though I tried to learn your language, My own words…they could not suffice; Humbling even the horizon, Your expanse beyond my sight.

Scarcely betraying any want, Adoring bow more than the gift, I gave you one of each to flaunt— But still enough I could not give.