Why He Met Her For

We would spend our days
jumping from stool to stool
and talking of Rossetti.
She was a glad daft
wasn't she? And then
the trees would shudder
and a leaf would bend low
enough to lap up a puddle
And like fools we'd lap up
right beside it
And in the end there
would be such joy
in remembering
the sadness that we felt
when a swollen snowflake
dampened our eye
and we called it by name.