What have we here that lurks upon this night?

  A sombre quiet attempts to embrace

  my home, yet it fails to capture my light.

  Whomever thought winter a nasty place?

  They have not looked closely upon her fire.

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  Beneath this loneliness there is no woe.

  How could one hate this beautiful white mire?

  Of seasoned hearts, so little do they know.

  Those who sit upon their chairs all wrapped up,

  while I dance upon the slopes of soft skin.

  Taking tumbles over mounds, bottom-up.

  I hold her on my tongue, gently we spin.

  They can keep their warm summery hell.

  I prefer this tingling winter snow spell.