The bitter wind hits your face, you put on layers, But are never quite warm enough always one part that insists on, staying cold, refusing to accept the warmth you offer it.
Wools and furs, Nothing helps, yet when a roaring fire is waiting your feet start to realise, they're defeated.
You look out and sympathise, With the poor soul running from the hail, Nose red, hat half off fighting and losing the battle.
The warmth is shared, But it's got a special place in it's heart, for you, the smile is passed, You realise your home.