Wind chills, cuts to bone,
head bowed, heading home,
sleet now falling, breath fogs,
home, a fire and crackling logs.
Street lights shine, man made stars,
icy puddles, frost sheathed cars,
fingers numbed, cheeks are rosy,
long for sofa, getting cosy.
On my road, walls cloaked in frost,
beneath carpeted sleet tarmac lost,
my door looms, keys in hand,
to lay on sofa, would feel grand.
Kettle sings, a warming note,
in front of fire, removing coat,
spoon clanks against the china,
snug in lounge nothing finer.
Beyond my window, world of white,
land dressed in diamonds overnight,
while warm inside, full of cheer,
better wrap up tight, winter's here.
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