I take my shoes off at your door.
It is Christmas eve.
The walls are paper thin, and the lantern
Burns in the corner.
Silently.
The tea is bright and woody.
Cloves and cinnamon.
It seems you are a woman,
although so wan and thin
You have been so tired this year
The wind is coming in.
Regretfully.
I put my shoes back on,
and close you back with kin.