Warm (1987)

Hands intertwined like the briar and the rose
Of some old English folktale

We walk silently through the woods
After a cool fall rain

The grey mist makes the crackling dead leaves of autumn
Beneath our feet
Soft and slick and wet

The cotton-white fog of a November day
Makes you shiver
So I hold you close

We stop walking and both sigh
The clouds of our breath combine and lose themselves
The mist and the fog

We see the last wren
Bolt from its perch
Blown by the sudden
Northwest breeze

The fog drifts between the pines
The stark white November fog
Surrounds the two of us

Warm