Ghosts

I learned I loved Summer after it left.

I fell for the curve of her pretty lips

Her honey-brown eyes, the sway of her hips.

But Winter's swift coming leaves me bereft.

Still, I'm haunted by images of deft

Piano-playing fingers. Music trips

By, over and over, and sweet sound grips

My mind. She owns my soul, a tiny theft.

I wish those ancient warm and sunny days

Could stop shining bruising rays on my heart.

I know she has gone for the final time.

So leave this old empty tree it's malaise

As I barely exist, so far apart

from her, my ghost, trapped in the Wintertime.