I might write a poem if I could think of the words to try
What is there to remember?
The winter was December
Just one more year left behind

 She never looked round to see me
 She never looked round at all
 All I saw were shadows on the wall
 She never looked round to see me
 She never looked round at all
 All I heard was snow that had to fall

She left in the morning, quietly, that was her way
And on returning, I find I had nothing to say
What is there to remember?
The winter was December
Just one more year left behind