I’ve had enough of deserts,
Wish to shed my summer clothes
And wear my long-forgotten woolen, warming winter robes.
Want mittened hands, and beating
Round my body in the cold
To ward off frost, to hover over heat and hearth and coals.
Want stockinged feet, and booted,
Want the crunch and whine of snow,
Want the red-cheeked strain of shoveling a passage to the road.
Want to warm the air with breathing,
Breathe the hale and hearty frost,
Want the windblown grace and loss of winterâ€™s cradle, and its cross.
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