The Winter Morning
The Winter Morning1 min 190 1 min 190
‘Tis some month - perhaps December,
The grate still has some dying ember.
As the night paled into a paler dawn,
Struck with memories bygone!
The passing night had a whirlwind –
No, not the one that spins;
But the one that stays within!
I don’t recall where the moon had been.
As a blizzard begins to set in,
The sun’s nowhere to be seen.
Through all this bleak and desolation around –
I see the tea-seller smiling at me profound!
On the street, I greet the newspaper guy -
Wondering how he makes those papers fly;
To that old lady waiting in the 13th storey -
Just for this paper and some drink, maybe!
As I envisaged to light up a smoke,
Oh! I realized I don’t smoke.