snow-capped houses speak in creaks and groans

a much-loved conversation with the west winds

one fond of the other yet with a fear of letting go

the other blustery and blowy still mourning past sins

angels there slide across the icy grey of the Seine

bridges above bowing heads to the brief passing

of wandering birds left behind the rest of the flock

all but freezing on tree limbs in cold induced fasting

distant and cloudy grey skies hold tears of white snow

then when full of self-pity and morose winter longings

they shake off the snowflakes over both towns and cities

tumbling soft across both prince and pauper’s belongings

that tower erect on the far side of a city called Paris

where lovers meet taken with thoughts of long nights

even in winter when hands are only felt beneath gloves

and thick winter coats hide the fairest of Parisian delights

then the front door closes on the house across the street

and the curtains are closed with no light but the moon

fallen starlight catches the glimmer of snow in the air

and romance remains snug to sing a warm rousing tune