‘Tis the chilly time of the year
The dry crisp of day
Examining frosty face to face with thee.
The brisk blowing day of its stitching,
the motley prominent quilt of untouched distinct hues
That twinges the eyes and produces a shiver.

Leaving behind a trail of raw imprints
The aging memories swaying behind
The gust from the past snapping a whoosh.

A swing of the door, out escapes the soothing relief
The melting substance crusted upon boots:
Stomping an’ kicking, rigid
numb hands and nipped cold feet.
Trampling inside under the retreat, to soak up the warmth
Thy’s cheeks—scratchy, raw but toasty.
Lounging in the sanctuary,
slowly heating with contentedness.
Under a quilt, sprawled by the rad’ance,
its glowing glimmer conceals heat within.

A sav’ry fiery mug to rekindle the flames;
the simple concoction’s sweet creamy aroma.
The insides melting the entangled iciness deep down with
every quenched gulp ridding
the bitter arctic held within the core.

Us gazing upon the stable gush of the plump crystal flurries;
eyeing the journey of life,
Drawn into a reverie of calm stun
The softened lightness floats peacefully down
to the frosty serenity of nature.
Ah, winter.