No matter the grey or drab,
Of clouds passing idly
Or of cold patterings on the pavement
Or opaque air

No matter the strain or jab,
Of winds high and icy
Or of falling sleet
Or when sun is rare

There is warmth and comfort,
Not in a fire that burns brightly
Or a candle that flickers
Or a sculpted wooden chair

For a simple message or call
Or even a thought might be
A great help to anything,
Knowing you care

A quick hug perhaps
Or a smell of perfume ever so slightly
Or a laugh, a smile,
A "feel my hair"

It does not matter the temperature,
The weather matters slightly,
For I would spend a hundred hours on a cold, wet road in the middle of a December night in Antarctica,
Just as long as you were there.