Pining

I could pine

with the evergreens,

I could spread my empty arms

like branches,

aching for the snow to fall,

to cover all

my weary world in white.

I could sway with grief

in the warm winds.

I could weep with the clouds

in the rain—

I love a winter far away.

But You are with me

in the mud,

and any other place

is just a pretty picture

with no soul.