Winter

-Les Diablerets, Switzerland, 2007 The Winter Trip with my parents

There are few who can grow old with a good grace.
-Sir Richard Steele

Snow can wait, I forgot my mittens
Wipe my nose, get my new boots on
I get a little warm in my heart when I think of winter
I put my hand in my father's glove

I run off where the drifts get deeper
Sleeping beauty trips me with a frown
I hear a voice, you must learn to stand up
For yourself, 'cause I can't all be around

He says, when you gonna make up your mind?
When you gonna love you as much as I do?
When you gonna make up your mind?

'Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change, my dear

Boys get discovered as winter melts
Flowers competing for the sun
Years go by and I'm here still waiting
Withering where some snowman was

Mirror mirror where's the crystal palace
But I only can see myself
Skating around the truth who I am
But I know dad the ice is getting thin

When you gonna make up your mind?
When you gonna love you as much as I do?
When you gonna make up your mind?

'Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change, my dear

Hair is grey and the fires are burning
So many dreams on the shelf
You say I wanted you to be proud of me
I always wanted that myself

He says, when you gonna make up your mind?
When you gonna love you as much as I do?
When you gonna make up your mind?

'Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses have gone ahead
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change, my dear
Never change, all the white horses

The phrase, "white horses" is said to be cited from the poem "After all the white horses" by E.E. Cummings.

After All White Horses Are In Bed

after all the white horses are in bed
will you walking beside me, my very lady,
if scarcely the somewhat city
wiggles in considerable twilight

touch (now) with a suddenly unsaid

gesture lightly my eyes?
And send life out of me and the night
absolutely into me. . . . a wise
and puerile moving of your arm will
do suddenly that will do
more than heroes beautifully in shrill
armour colliding on huge blue horses,
and the poets looked at them, and made verses,

through the sharp light cryingly as the knights flew.


-- E.E. Cummings