The piercing wind that ices to the quick
and whistles round the whirls of falling snow
again may play the heart an awful trick.
Chilled air's gone dark, the roads grown far too slick,
and we can feel, though safe in heated glow,
the piercing wind that ices to the quick.
Ice festering in layers, smooth and thick
on asphalt and the gravestones, row on row,
again may play the heart an awful trick.
The gentle breeze that ears and noses licks
may cast away its mask at once to show
the piercing wind that ices to the quick.
The candle soft that's burning at the wick
if tipped could burn, and as the fire grows,
again may play the heart an awful trick.
At home, all warm, so safe, and never sick,
and though for now in peace the children grow,
the piercing wind that ices to the quick
again may play the heart an awful trick.
