Celia hesitated suddenly,
hand hovering, so unwilling to land
and open the door. She reluctantly
closed her eyes, pushed ahead and dropped her hand.
The garden was a winter wonderland
where atop every surface glistened frost,
an ornate birdbath, it’s purpose now lost.
Paul gazed down to the garden below,
his chest tightened at the mere sight of her
waltzing around in the frost and the snow.
Longing to join her, words were lost, a slur.
His mind raging, yet he still did not stir.
Gripping his cane, his frail body he cursed,
seeing her start to cry outside was worst.