She's waiting for December,
She knows that that's her time,
When every other's freezing,
She's out in the sublime.
The ice makes up her playground,
The snow a cool, cool drink,
The winter air a pleasant bite,
The sunrise: bitter, pink.
She loves to touch the icicles,
With bare hands: cold to skin,
She marvels at the cobwebs,
With frozen drops, so thin.
She loves the colour of the sky,
The grey, the white, with snow,
She fascinates in winter rain,
Which makes the snow just... Go.
She loves the way the slush is pushed,
To sides of roads and streets,
December is her month, you see,
When girl and winter meets.
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