The sun shines bright,
But the air is cold
The snow is light,
The snowball is rolled.
Angel shapes are in the snow,
Footprints lead to the mother who sews.
Hot chocolate steams in painted mugs,
The socks lie in a row, drying on the rug.
Little faces red with cold,
Listen to stories and songs of old.
No one moves out of fear
That the magic of the day will just disappear.
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