Father’s tears

Cold wind blows

Clean and clear

Past a chimney

Clean of smoke

Whistles through

Cold bare hearth

Into a room

With a tree

Balls and icicles

Hang on limbs

Lights unlit

Dark are now

Underneath

A bare floor

Hopes unseen

 Dreams to be

Father sits

Softy cries

For his children

Fast asleep

Morning comes

And hopeful eyes

To dark room

Empty and cold

 

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