Ice jackets the windowpanes,
water in the teapot's frozen.
Mother stands in the kitchen,
tosses coal into the stove.
Square buttons show off
her hand-knitted sweater.

Reddish hair juts from her hair net.
Green eyes flicker like marbles
as she greases an iron skillet;
cuts a slab of bacon and cracks the eggs.
I delight in her charismatic grin,
freckles and rosy skin.

Bite my lip to keep from chattering.
Utterances are short and direct,
it's to early for a chitchat.
Her days are full of sewing and washing clothes;
no breaks until bedtime.
The family is her gems.

Ice on the glass begins to melt,
forming palaces, ice ponds, dancing skaters,
and Mother in a satin robe
demanding eggs over-easy
as she adjusts her crown.