The Christmas holidays are over now,
and the days are getting much colder;
It seems each year the melancholy,
grips us with a hand that's even bolder.

The tree limbs are bare and broken,
the wind whistles around the fence;
Pine cones fly through the frosty air,
we cuddle close to a hearth-fire that's intense.

The warmth is subtle but somewhat soothing,
as we watch snow falling softly to the ground;
The stillness around us is like a misty dream,
that shatters our world without making a sound.

And soon the fire begins to burn away,
as sleepy-eyed we rest in comfortable silence;
It's a picture-perfect scene of winter's repose,
inside a cottage filled with a hopeful presence.