The night seems so old,
As if fallacies are told,
No shadow on the passing wall,
Or for that matter in the hall,
Cold chills run amok,
Socks refusing to buck,
Strange moments are rare,
The beauty of them I bare,
Rustle of leaves is at a halt,
Road smell of sour salt,
Deny my love I must,
Winter has me in its lust,
Time holds still within,
Warmth of the fire place gleams,
I bury my nose in my hand,
To be on a beach, playing in sand,
Breath of my lungs rouse,
No creature stirring-
Not even a mouse.
