Unused to Winter mild and damp and sweet.

I sit alone inside a darkened room

To mourn the passing of my lover dear;

Yet this darkness brings me not to gloom,

Nor does it aggravate  historic  fears.

I see   forsythia’s light and windswept twigs;

The sun is higher  despite  that it is weak.

And  in the earth I see  a squirrel digs

Unused to winter mild and damp and sweet.

What will be the trigger for my move

Into the sun which once I loved so much?

Will it be the dawning of new love?

Or will I be deceived that it is such?

I seek no warmth from inter-netting trolls.

For flesh to flesh is how fresh love will call