the frost is slowly fried

leaves slowly burn off branches

in the spark of cold fire

sounds softened

by the glow's cotton wake

sunlit glitter scattered among the trees

as rainbow dust

tickling the eyes

of the bundled passerbys

shorter days

show us new lights

and our hearts compensate

by brightening their rays

the same polluted air

tastes crisp and clean

at 35 degrees

every breath a reminder

that cold inspired shelter

to act vigor's part

we fill up the cellar

with liniments for winter

slick licorice tea

and beer brewing barrels

to warm the places

the furnace can't reach

the windows sizzle and crackle

as the frost is slowly fried

into feather formations

and I hear her hard cackle

as we undress the nations.