The cold nipped my ears,
on my walk through the forest,
but made my nose run.
The ground under foot,
was cold, wet and slippery,
and my feet complained.
The path lead me on,
down past the old mills chimney,
where it’s shadow lay.
The bells rang tonight,
and only heard by the few,
that walk at midnight.
The day trickled by,
like a peaceful springtime stream,
that keeps passing by.
