She steps out into the snow, icy breath and naked toes
Unaware of the winter raking through the trees
Spreads her blanket on the ground to mark the perfect picnic spot she's found
Where they'll throw around the football, and laugh until they cannot stand
And he is not here, but she is waiting though he said he would not come
And she looks happy, making snow angels in her frosty home.
Courageous fragments of old hope dig their shards into the ever steeper slope
Where the one-time stable footholds have weathered their last storm.
And he is not here, but she is waiting though they said he would not come
And she seems happy, making snow angels in her frosty home.
She is hovering on the edge...Yes, I am hanging from the ledge
Shadows haunt me, voices taunt me - I think I'll find him out here...
The light from all the stars feels like the warmth of the sun to my bare arms
And I think I hear your footsteps coming through the crunchy snow.
And you are not here, but I am waiting though I know you will not come.
And I am happy.... I think I'm happy... making snow angels in my frosty home.
copyright Heather Johnson 2000.