I remember how cold was the air
the day I left you standing there;
the wind was playing with your hair,
your breathing made a cloud.
You looked at me as if you knew
I would not return and nor would you –
I looked deeply in your eyes of blue
I tightened up my scarf.
“I’ll call you soon,” I said and smiled,
You nodded, eyes both sad and mild,
I heard the crying of a child,
when you sighed and turned away.
I meant to call, I meant to write,
When I heard you wed, my throat grew tight,
But I let you slip out of my sight –
Inertia wins again.