Do you still sit with Herman at your feet
staring into the remains of he fire?
I remember the smell of your pipe
and the musty dampness of his coat
after the long afternoon walks.
Normally, I hate the winter.
The dark, short, miserable days
and the way people seem
to be shut in by the cold.
Even their eyes lose the glitter
Also the way the young people
all seem to disappear, vanish,
just as did the leaves of the chestnut,
leaving only the bare bones of branches.
I often wonder where they all went!
There were enough old ones about,
too exhausted with battling the wind
to cast a stranger a tired “Morning”
or even smile to some one they knew.
But you, sitting in your favourite armchair
Warm from the hearth-fire
With lazy slumbering Herman at your feet
eating on my $60.00 pumps,
That made the winter there