I walk all alone in my Nordic
November’s obscure and gloomy light,
my heart lies fallow and the feet gets cold,
my freezing fingers hides in my coat pockets.
I have no one to lean on and you’re so far away.
I wish you could come and colorize my dreary rooms,
and bring joy and love to my barren body and sullen soul.
Now, here in November!
But you might love
your anger and pride more
than you love me, so this can be
the end of our road. Your fear to lose
me have kept me back, but now when you
choose to remain in silent anger not talking to
me, you give me no option but to move on my own.
Soon winter will come, and maybe I should think more
about winter boots than on you. I imagine you will
become more devastated than I will be, as I feel
secure with myself being well shod by age.
But it’s harder now in my stage of life to
accept the loss of dreams and illusions.
Maybe you were only a lonely lady’s lovely but silly dream.
It was though such a sweet dream to live with and now
in my faded November time walking alone lifeless
and leafless, I still think it would have been
so good for me to have you here with me
making me feel loved