My Home

The small white flakes
Drift slowly to the ground,
Covering everything,
Concrete,
Grass,
Houses,
And trees.
It is cold outside,
The world is sleeping.
Inside it is warm,
The fire spreads its warmth,
Lights the room with its glow.
I sit here quietly,
Looking out the window
At the slowly darkening scene.
The sun is gone now,
But the blanket of white
Allows the light to linger,
To stay just a little longer,
As if it were reluctant to leave.
As it should be,
This world is a wonderful place,
And anybody is right
To tarry here,
To simply enjoy this beautiful place
That I am fortunate enough
To call my home.

The End

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