Winter

By G. Murray Thomas
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The promise of warmth
with every entered room.
The coats removed,
the holiday embraces,
the drinks filled.
The fire at full blaze.

But always the snow piled
against the walls,
the cold fingers parting the curtains,
and the darkness, that crystal white darkness
beating on the door.

Until, inevitably, the drinks are drained,
the fire settles into embers,
and I step, again, into the frost.