When winter paints those frosty ferns on my windowpane,
I find myself a little girl up on your lap again;
In that old house, there by the sea, where you wove that tapestry,
With all the glorious memories, of your life upon the sea.
With weathered palm, so deeply etched, with every season past,
You rubbed a porthole in the center, of the frosted glass,
Where outside, in splendour lie, a winter-wonderland,
As halos rose above your head, from a pipe bowl in your hand.
And there upon a rocking chair, as smoke rings filled the air,
We rocked across a sea of dreams, wind tangled in our hair;
To lands I’d never been before, we stepped upon those shores,
And through your eyes I saw each one, and still I wanted more.
The morning passed in dreams between two pairs of eyes of green,
As the world outside, held its breath, in a sea of snowy cream;
And when the chill of winter melted, from the windowpane,
The whistling kettle, on the stove, brought us home again.
You held my hand and looked at me, with that twinkle in your eyes,
And told me you would be my Captain, 'til the day I died.
So, when winter paints those frosty ferns, on my windowpane,
I find myself a little girl, up on your lap again.
Born in New Brunswick, Elaine George spent the early years of her life living in Lorneville (a small fishing village along the Bay of Funday) still inhabited by many of her family members. Much of her writing is inspired by the memories of that place and those wonderful people. She has published two volumes of poetry and is currently writing a novel entitled Out of the Darkness. Many of her poems and short stories have appeared in magazines in both Canada and the United States. Currently she lives with her husband in Wainfleet, Ontario.