She stared out at the boulevard <br />While crouched upon the sill <br />Her legs hugged upward near her chin <br />Her gaze so very still <br /> <br />As traffic pulsed beyond the pane <br />I couldn't see her face <br />But somehow I could then relate <br />In going to that place <br /> <br />A truly spiritual place of peace <br />Where passing hours stood still <br />A momentary longing, I <br />To be her on that sill <br /> <br />I saw myself behind the glass <br />Between the drapes and pane <br />Gently feeling sweet reprieve <br />As tensions start to wane <br /> <br />Where sunshine does the window waltz <br />And clouds crescendo daily <br />Ignoring life, just kicking back <br />Escaping from the melee <br /> <br />What made her then be so engrossed <br />In peering at our world <br />The dancing leaves and twisted bows <br />Vanilla lights unfurled <br /> <br />I wondered was she really there <br />Or just an apparition <br />A momentary glitch of sight <br />Frenetic contradiction <br /> <br />Was she a winter angel? <br />Had the other drivers seen <br />This lamb with ivory, curly hair <br />There crouched beside the screen? <br /> <br />No strands' illumination <br />Could match her sparkling hue <br />This little child so tucked away <br />With gentleness so true <br /> <br />I hope all who passed by that way <br />Had seen her on the sill <br />And caught a glimpse of slowing down before <br />SIR WINTER'S CHILL <br /> <br />(2003) <br />©2012 All Rights Reserved<br /><br />Holly Jamestone<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sir-winter-s-chill/
