Once upon a winter night,
Near the snow-capped hills, the indigo sky;
Housed a town with lights so bright,
Far if you are, do not mistake it for fireflies.

Clad in red mittens and a pair of socks,
Ran into a couple, on his way out of the shop,
Their hands interlocked, another holding a chocolate box,
They smile down at the boy who apologizes with a nod.

Stopping before a dog lying in a dimly-lit street,
He searches his brown pants for a stale piece of bread,
Slender fingers touch his cheek, 'This isn't where you should be.'
Says the lady with the mink coat and lips blood-red.

Scurrying between houses, whiff of smoke itches his nose,
Leaning against the back door with an expression so torn,
A man hides between the pages; a pressed, withered rose,
Sniffling in the memory of a lost lover, he mourns.

'Come soon my child', he recalls his mother's words,
Clutching the tweed blazer, cap low on his forehead,
By the window, she waits till his footsteps are heard,
Embraced in her familiar scent, he tells tales of his night's tread.