The fire crackles in the old brick hearth,
a warm friend on this cold day,
thinking of summer past,
thoughts wander to days of May.
The wind howls from the north,
as temperatures hover very low,
January in New England,
sunsets across the fresh snow.
The festive days have now ended,
cloudy days and dark nights arrive,
a good book read by candlelight,
until spring I will survive.
Winter indulged with warm treats,
reminiscent of winters past,
the warm days will return,
like the days of May last.
I surrender to early slumber,
nestled away dreaming of May,
the fire crackles in the old brick hearth,
a warm friend on this cold day.
James W. Spain
