I watch out the frosted windows,
As the glistening snow slowly falls.
My mind wanders away aimlessly,
Never staying on a single subject long.
I dream of winters long past,
When life was very different, indeed.
With a tinkle like sleigh bells,
Snow falls from lower pine branches.
I see a bent old man walking through the woods,
Relentlessly gathering dry wood for his fire.
Suddenly I am like medieval King Wenceslas,
Rushing forth from the warmth to help the man.
Grabbing up my cloak along the way,
Once outside I see evidence of no other.
I rush toward the area where the man had been,
But arrive in time to hear retreating sleigh bells.
I stand beneath a fragrant pine looking around,
A silver bell on a ribbon of velvet is all I ever found.