As the sun sets over the frozen lake, it’s time to walk
Bundled up against the cold, muffled, wool socks, etc.
Gloved hands holding as we walk up the road and back, talk softly,
Talk wisely, talk about money, maybe talk about old times
But when the clear-focused stars of winter wink into being
We’ll take off our gloves and wait
And feel with numbing hands what’s really out there
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