“They say, he whispers, his lips making the word-shapes on her shoulder, there is a river that heals all wounds. It is pure white, like snow or the blossoms of prarie-cotton. You are my white river. If I die, I will come back to wash my heart in you.”

“Another snowball, this time it impacted on my shoulder. I dusted the snow off my coat with my free hand and gave him the biggest stinkeye I could muster.“How old are you again? Twelve?”He grinned, teeth white as the snow he gathered. “Old enough to make you come, young enough to make you hate me for it.”“Oh jeez,” I muttered, shaking my head, and turned around.Bam.Snowball to the back of my head.”

“I leaned back against him and rested my cheek on his shoulder. I could feel the river water dripping off of him."Thank you" I whispered. When I looked up, I saw he was crying.”

“Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; But I, being young and foolish, with her did not agree. In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.”

“But pleasures are like poppies spread,You seize the flower, it's bloom is shed;Or, like the snow-fall in the river,A moment white, then melts forever.”

“…She kissed me on my thin lips and all my words were pushed back into my mouth. “I don’t want to die,” she whispered, “but I need to lose the shackles of this multitude of hearts.”