Forecast (Poetry)

I watched you sleep and counted dawn's slow minutes,
saved the vision 'til you woke to go,
the skyline streaked with blood, its blue-grey wounded
and me afraid the day might end with snow.

The wind felt light and teased too-early blossom,
almost playful, made pink petals blow,
the sun so nearly warm, the air uneasy,
something warned me then - it's set to snow.

The news was grim - more bombs and bullets raining -
the voice died - I unplugged the radio.
Silence, as I read your leaving letter -
I always knew the world would end with snow.