There are no chestnuts roasting on the fire,
No tree to stand before the fireplace,
Laden with ornaments, no angel choir
Playing on the radio, no trace
Of presents wrapped, no carolers in sight.
The snowdrifts pile up around the house,
And all is dark except for candlelight,
While no one stirs (and that includes the mouse),
But not because we wait to hear a sleigh
Tinkle across the roof. We are, instead,
Cuddled inside our blankets, where we'll stay
More comfortable than if we were in bed
Enjoying winter. And that is enough
Without the other, ancillary stuff.
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