alone in the house in winter by john grey

Out of gray and mournful sky,

a month’s snow falls in a day.

Birds don’t dare leave their roosts.

Not even the fastest of them

can fly between the flakes.

With ice in its engine,

the wind is sharp.

Dead leaves attempt to ride

the billowing to escape,

but are mercilessly tamped down.

Rabbits nibble on

the last of a garden.

Mice burrow down

wherever the earth will have them.

The house sends

smoke signals out the chimney

from the fire I light.

The warmth of the flame

barely extends beyond my rubbing hands.