then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.The snowflakes are swirling, blotting outPartly stone, partly the absence of stone,It's snowing, it's returning to a townPealing, it tries to fill the cold night airPeople might see to be the openingTo mark that square, perhaps: were Mère and PèreOut of the road into a way acrossCome, swallows, it's good-bye.And so I gaze avidlyLate February, and the air's so balmygiddy as good kids playing hookey. Now,Are muffled into silence that refusesOver the chilly dale.In a single floral stroke,With its lament, it often sounds, instead,Are muffled into silence that refusesFigures of light and dark, these two are walkingYes. You'd want that said, (if you