December eves when sleep ne'er comes
and I'm cocooned in old afghan,
I spend dark hours imagining
you have returned to me again.

Oh, Love, your image oft appears
'midst filigree upon the pane.
As Lady Winter you arrive
with driven snow and frozen rain.

With fingernails, long icicles,
you rap upon the glass and sills.
Your moaning echoes off the eaves.
Your frigid breath now gives me chills.

An icy wreath frames your pale face.
Fir sprigs, red berries, crown your head.
Blue eyes like ice-filled mountain lakes
gaze at me though no tears are shed.

Your pink lips open, but your words
are thrashed 'gainst glass, wind-swept away.
No joy tonight, all solace lost.
I hear not what you try to say.

Oh, Love, why must you chill my heart?
Your wintry visit terrifies.
That Death is final, absolute
your ghostly visage verifies.