The flames from the fireplace ferociously heat my backside,

As I keep my sights upon the desolate wintry fright.

Frigid and wisped, the wind blows the panes.

While my fingers trace a few letters on the bitter frosty bays.

A glacial heat vibrates through me rolling electricity through my spine

as a crack from the logs sound out from behind

But I stay staring at the bleak December we waited for.

The one that you have spoken with such fervor before.

The one with a few horrid ghost tales of talking black birds that you so abhor.

Leaving me to crave and rave for a haunting much like yours,

Forevermore.

I wrote upon the wintry glass, nevermore.