• Around the tall clock, time slowly ticks by,
    and the brushes of Winter's fingers draw near.
    The spindly caresses of a frostbitten wind,
    tap messages onto the shimmering glass.

    Blazing dark sapphire eyes that burn,
    and scorching their souls with his gaze.
    A gust of cold air blows in through the trees,
    and settles itself near his impetuous face.

    Through the smeared window, he pauses to glance,
    at the movement that goes on inside.
    Veiled by curtains so red that they melt in his eyes,
    there is an emerald green tree placed gently with care.

    Near a brick-laden wall, against the green paint,
    he sees it standing so proud.
    With its elegant arms all dripping with gold,
    and entwined in red and green shimmers.

    His icy cold breath fogs up the clear glass,
    and he takes in just one last, long look.
    At the small hill of boxes, so neatly stacked there,
    protected and sheltered so close.

    Then, with a sigh, that blows frost on the wood,
    he takes a step back from the house.
    And leaving behind a slick, shining ice path,
    returns to his home, far deep in the woods.