How often the glen echoes
Depends on the single voice pure
Calling her love through the snow
Testing how love endures
Words between them short and terse
He said things he ought not said
What things she said were much worse
All over the unmade bed
No children heard two years now
Not for not trying, passion flared
Sweat intermingled on their brows
Blaming self, unanswered prayer
How often the glen echoes
Depends on the heart’s love pure
Finds her love one in the snow
Too much too long to endure
© 2011 Michael Yost
Michael's Lair 