DECEMBER 16, 1960
Winter Walk
I. always remember my first winter walk each year;
The biting wind gnashes at my cheeks,
The clouds billow from blue to gray,
And the blue-gray clouds send out their first flakes.
The crystal mists my view
And dampens my hair and cheeks.
The trees, bent with their burden,
Sway in the sudden gushes of wind.
Birds fly, looking for shelter,
The park becomes a white castle,
Shimmering in the dusk.
My own home takes on palatial majesty.
I always remember each winter's first walk.