An Evening In Aigle When Snow Gathered In My Hair Poem by Steve Taunton

Even then, in those multi-grey evenings,
As the dusk was deepening in narrow paths
That had earlier pulsed, the town’s gentle life,
Growing calm, as the valley filled with whitened night,
Alone, I was lacking, nor missing, no one there.

Passages of snowy stillness broken
By distant, steel-grinding coughs and moans,
Complaints from trains, trams, and rails,
One moment echoed, then were quickly muffled
Along crumbling garden walls.

I wandered past brightly lit shops and cafés,
Bursting with snow-filtered pastels;
Boys’ laughing, light-filled voices, shattering the shadows
Through snow-adorned paths and avenues
Of the ancient Helvetian town.

In an evening that was shared before
The sounds of many another’s voice known;
Faces and hands uncovered, bathed
In winter’s cold, dry air, with light-white touches
Against already blushing skin.

Hands in my pockets, warm with my thoughts,
Meeting faces filled with life,
As the snow gathered in my hair,
In that evening I hoped for a joy,
Though not knowing nor missing it there.

(December,1967)