You know, winter is the worst of seasons

and all the windows frost up and just chill.
But as the colors of the night deepen,
All the growth of most nature holds still.
When the sun becomes a great warm beacon,
That frigid air, throughout, can only kill.
Like when all birds in the east, weaken.
Such brisk wind, is like a bitter pill.

Hard to swallow, though a fixed demon.

Children, from all around cannot wait till,
Christmas. Home-bound, come all the working seamen.
When it heats up, its god’s act of good will.
Some start to miss it, every now and then.
And the great winter returns, time and time again.