In these, our bitter days of winter,
As bare trees stand, their feet ice cold in the snow,
Above our heads icy North Winds blow,
And from my eaves hang frozen crystal splinters,
Let us then retire to our rooms.
Where we’ll sip hot tea and clasp our hands
And know the warmth of love still stands,
While overhead, the Winter Rage looms.
No embers of wood, nor burning coal,
As their fire radiates its heat
Upon our faces, upon our feet,
Can, as the heart, so warm the soul.