My back is to the window for a reason;
I do not want to even glance outside.
From here I can pretend it is a season
Much less distressing to my tender hide.
If I should look, I'd see unmelted snow
Covering a sheet of liquid ice
Still sitting in the parking lot below.
But sunlight on the wall can still look nice
Inside my room, where all is warm and bright
Even when the light itself is cold.
Therefore I do not dare to risk the sight
Of what's outside, for if I were so bold
My comfortable illusion, and my cheer
Would disappear entirely, I fear.
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