I have this large bay window, on the sunrise side of my home
A picture frame of winter delight, calling me to pen a poem
Blazing yellow morning sun pulsing through in cheerful stream
The crispness of not long fallen snow, casting off its glorious gleam

Eager squirrels about their way, soaring with ease from limb to limb
A red-breasted nuthatch makes me smile, the way he sings his hymn
The little old lady next door, a widow, shoveling her way to the mailbox
Expectations of good reports from her children, or dividends of stocks

Little munchkins wrapped tight, straining to stand and pilot their way
Rolling earths snowy blanket into a snowman or fort in their play
A whipping wind scoops rooftop drift, powdering my view with sparkling delight
Chimneys churning out smoke, the fire below warming the family into the night

Snow flakes now falling ferociously, big as rose petals, thick as cotton bloom
Sitting here behind the glass all warm and snug, camomile tea to consume
I can’t help but wonder what the first light will bring, what winter wonderland
Captured from my window mezzanine, the poet’s pen close at hand