January
The days are short,
The sun a spark
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.
Fat snowy footsteps
Track the floor,
And parkas pile up
Near the door.
The river is
A frozen place
Held still beneath
The trees' black lace.
The sky is low.
The wind is gray.
The radiator
Purrs all day.
by John Updike
1 comment:
Brrrrrr
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