Three Dreams of Winter, a poem by Meg Smith at

Three Dreams of Winter

Three Dreams of Winter

written by: Meg Smith



We sang a hymn
in a lost language.
A blanket from your sister
kept us, but only just.
You’re part of spring now,
as surely as grass entreaties.

Fire ruled my brain,
even in staring across a snowscape.
It was you who walked me there,
in a solstice of a white, sleeping sun.

Our last Christmas breakfast,
eggs in a blue bowl —
this your prepared,
before your lips ran to blue, and violet,
and your breath drew the true cold.

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