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.