Winter is knocking gently at the door.
Won't be long before it lets itself in.
Doesn't need a key or an invite.
Before you know it, it's pulled up an armchair by the fire.
Its icy fingers have already touched the land, sprinkling white dust as it goes. It's bronzing the trees' leaves, before it gradually pulls them off.
Time to wrap up warm, my friend.
Pull up that blanket until the chill fades.
Put your arms around me and hold me tight.
And don't let go (not until April, at least).