If You Were Here

By Jane Tedder

I wish you were here with me,

sitting by the kitchen window

watching the feathery soft snowflakes

drift aimlessly to the ground.

I watch them against the backdrop

of the big old maple tree,

its red – though now faded – leaves

having yet to follow

the downward course of the snowflakes.

I wish you were here.

But if you were here, we’d surely

be out going somewhere, doing something,

and this graceful pleasantry of nature

would go by, largely unnoticed.