Maudlin amber pulls me in,

I regret the fight is not mine to win.

That wonderful presence,

The warmth of a hearth

In winter’s darkest depths.

The beauty, the joy,

The homeliness.

The loneliness.

The bleakness, the despair,

In autumn’s youngest days.

The cool of the north

That vicious knife-breeze.

Pull the windows; keep the warm air in,

As amber, maudlin, pulls me in.