Winter's hand has come calling.
From the eaves--icicle fingers reach.
Their cold touch--like death
Into its grasp I'm falling.
What happened to earth's warm embrace?
Was it all a calumny?
Mother natures vile trick.
Does she mock me to my face?
As the bitter wind does blow,
I endeavor to resist.
To the snow Queen, I will not bow,
Even as the trees bend low.
How will frost's sharp bite I stave?
Indoor sports I will play.
With my lover--beneath the sheets,
I will find the heat I crave.
