Outside, the snow is gently falling,
the fireplace is lit and burning;
I read a book, that I've been stalling,
inside of me, the heart is yearning.

Yearning for the days of times ago,
for the love of my New England days;
when no reason was enough to know,
the why  and wherewithal  of ways.

To find the joy, in just the simple things,
to find a peace, that envelopes the soul;
a snowfall, that such a scene does bring,
to garner joy,  that makes one whole.

My love is writing poems to stir my heart,
she sits,  contented,  by the open fire;
of my life,  she is the major part,
I look upon her with sweet desire.

New England winter on this summer day,
brings back a memory that's fine;
it was  my thoughts that were at play,
I drink the last of summer's wine.