So much of the thoughts of winter,
The sameness of them all –
Always the snow shovel on the porch,
The galoshes in the hall.
The dark clouds hung overhead,
Squeals of children sledding on the hill,
The sparkling snow that holds its viewers
Silently delighted by the old gristmill.
The family gathering around the fireplace
Strangely content in their own way.
The old, the very young listening
Attentively and willing to stay.
The same dreary outcomes of a winter storm,
The treacherous, snow covered trails,
The same old stories of winters past
That grandfather always diligently tells.
So much of the thoughts of winter,
Somewhat of a tradition you may recall,
The cherished memories from gone by years,
Revealing the sameness of them all.
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