The Burgeoning Winter

I can't but feel I'm missing time
Alone outside in bundled abode
White pillows up nicely my booted heels
I button up snug my overcoat
Wandering legs and a frigged nose
Alternative paths dance overhead
Not for my feet having no place to rest
Would I be out nowhere instead of inside

The fire grows tired and smolders
Honest, inside I can feel it grow cold
Dim grows the light in my soul
And not for the time growing old
Fuel is low and in demand
I'm asking the Lord for some tinder
A bitter bite off of my hands; my eyes
Raised high as the burgeoning winter