The Snow Line

Here, huddled on the hill,
we are above the snow line.
Separate from the broad green valley
seen below, and silenced
by the soft snowfall.

In this cold world
there are separations worse, far worse,
than white and green;
signs of love unseen,
words of love unspoken
simply sad tokens
of humankind, blind
to the sight
of so much division.

The winter night
muffles, spawning oblivion,
but yearning for warmth.

Dawning, it will come. In months.
By summer, separation
will be merely a memory.
with only green on the hill.

And a snow line still.