On the heart, which grows cold.
On the lips that dry as the air
Penetrates the softest kiss.

On the skin of a young woman,
Its frailty is the beauty of life
Which freezes in time.

On the magnificent glimmers
Of frozen mist on leaves,
December begins the grey.

The warmth of another holding
You and you holding them,
The glory of cold.

The miraculous cold which
Brings charitableness to homelessness
And gives hope on snowy days.

Cold like today
Which makes my hand write,
That makes me think warm things.