White-tipped mountains descend into icy lake,
Biting breeze nips crisply onto my bare skin.
Ears gently caressed by lapping waves within,
No chatter but for gulls riding water's break.
By the banks, wrapped up against the bitter cold,
Promenading, sharing warmth, hand in hand,
As winter sun glistens on Rousseau's Romand,
Basking in frosted happiness, young and old.
Alas, I was not one of those wand'ring pairs.
Instead, I gazed alone, with longing eyes.
Solace grows weary with each passing night,
A feeling which crept over as I stared.
Travel on one's own has its virtues, for sure,
But straddling in tandem would liven that shore.
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