Love

(Inspired by the beauty of Maj-Britt Nilsson)

Pearls dived for from deep
Glitter on her neck, when
she wears them on a black dress
of wool, serge, and satin.

The woman is bronze, her mien is
Heroic
Equestrians look puny, and the
drawing room is small.

Knightly suitors, suave businessmen
all throng round her
She favours each with her radiant smile,
And each gets the manna from Heaven.

A coachman waits for the night to get over
so he can take her home to rest,
But she is the life of the soirée
and rooks don't caw at night.

Riot is not in the homes which sleep
peacefully
But in the bells which shake gnawingly
when the horse stamps his foot in the snow
impatiently.

Years of sunlight pass, and the coachman has long since frozen.
The thread that bound the pearls has broken, and one last pearl remains.
Again comes a dappled sky, and again comes the youthful wish.
For once, the snowman melts, and meets the thin air.