About You During a Snowstorm

‘Tis afternoon my fairy Queen,
As large lump flakes of snow
Come gliding in, come peeking in
The portals of my window.

My heart is soft, my eyes are longing
For your puzzling, lovely face.
My hands are out, ears seem straining
Oh, Jeanne, ‘tis lovely in this place.

‘Tis your smile, perchance your eyes
That make men say “Ah, Paradise!”
Or maybe lips, or brown hair twining
‘Neath your temples straying.
Why did God make such a woman
To Adams son dismaying?

She’s hot, she’s cold–
She’s bashful, bold–
Her life’s a paradox
She makes my life a thrilling game
Of chance—a rosy bed of rocks.

Now, quit your penning
And turn to other tasks a-waiting
Then when through your weary eyes
Will search her out in land of dreaming.

Jan 3 33            Ellsworth