Chill within walls of the vestibule
Snowless-ness felt by the gray-grown tint
Casting its grip like a draggled tool
Waiting for new season’s white-shed glint.

Stepping once more in familiar pass
Scowl on your cheeks as with snowflake play
Rue at the window, your cede of gas
Hedges a-flit with the bluebirds’ stay.

Taking a drink from the cabinet
Slipping your feet in an ankle-cross
Wond’ring aloud that the sun has set
Waiting for life in the whiskey sauce.