The hoar-frost crumbles in the sun, br The crisping steam of a train br Melts in the air, while two black birds br Sweep past the window again. br br Along the vacant road, a red br Bicycle approaches; I wait br In a thaw of anxiety, for the boy br To leap down at our gate. br br He has passed us by; but is it br Relief that starts in my breast? br Or a deeper bruise of knowing that still br She has no rest.