Winter

I miss winter.

The sweet embrace of the cold.

The hot cocoa I would hold.

I belong to the snow.

No matter where I go,

home will be sweaters,

blankets with down feathers,

clothes fresh from the dryer,

and cuddling by the fire.

I wish for choral singers,

I'll tolerate the frozen fingers.

Just take me to December,

Or I'll sweat to death before September.