O love, the winter calls me home,
To wear the blanket, warm and still;
O love, the idols of my heart,
Sit glist’ning on the windowsill —
Where once the summer flower bloomed,
Is now a field of cold and blank:
But past regret lies gratitude
For those whom I can never thank —
O love, the winter knows my name,
And know the place that I belong,
A chair beside a fire in
A cabin old, but middling strong –
Wherein awaits the chapter next,
That I must read as daylight dies;
O love, the winter calls me home,
To draw our lives in pictures ‘cross the skies
