Dwelt a miner, forty-nine …
by Jeremy Fernando

It was an early Christmas morn.
It might have been the rain,
but — it was all quite forlorn.
Perhaps, I just wanted to mourn
This early Christmas morn

Though, she was standing there;
snow curling through her hair.
This early Christmas morn

In the nights
when the sun stayed up till nine,
I should have called time.
But perhaps, I was inclined to see
her as mine.
Or, I just could not bring myself to whine.
But, even as I never said it,
certainly not out loud,
I surely heard myself say so.
Perhaps, she too.
That I’ll never quite know.

For, she was standing there;
snow curling through her hair
One early Christmas morn.

Maybe it was just me,
me that wanted to see,
wanted for it to be.
But, I’d like to think that
anyone could see her,
standing there.
Snow curling through her hair.
One early Christmas morn

Oh my darling, oh my darling,
Oh my darling, Clementine!
Thou art lost and gone forever
Dreadful sorry, Clementine [1]

That early Christmas morn.
Standing there.
Snow curling through hair.


Notes:
[1] This verse & the title are taken from the traditional song, “Oh my darling, Clementine”, usually attributed to Percy Montrose (1884) but sometimes also to Barker Bradford. This, in turn, was based on a poem “Down by the River Liv’d a Maiden” by H.S. Thompson (1863).