Winter

Winter comes and the cold rain turns to snow

and outside the wind still blows and blows.

Bony branches scratch and scrape the spinning sky

and outside the crows just fly and fly.

This house is as cold as a tomb

and like a ghost I drift from room to room.

I'm transparent, longing to hear a song,

but the Swallows have all gone.

Under a frozen moon a dog fox howls and cries

and the ice on the lake just sighs and sighs.

All the birds flew south such a long, long time ago,

but under the ice the water flows and flows.

This house feels as cold as the grave

and if it caught fire I wonder what I'd save.

I'm weightless, longing to hear a song,

but the Swallows have all gone.