Long at last the winter winds,
Pass us by on morning walks,
Howls, growls, and loudly scoffs,
Draws us close to search for hands,
To hold around the fire.

Sorrowed songs flood our hearts,
Render tough to pluck the tune,
Sing and sit in what we’ve sewn,
Yet we raises our voices high,
As ghosts to be a choir.

Quickly now the winter winds,
Striping bare your arms of grace,
That sheltered sunlight from your face,
And let slip rain and snow to show,
Initials on your skin.

Love that dies is hard to hold,
When thought to last as pure as gold,
Yet cries alone in dismal cold,
For death to give his ending blow,
But still it grows in silence.

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