I fear the shrinking of the days,
the light that’s fading sooner every day.
Colder nights approach me in my home,
and make me shiver in so many ways.
I shall remember better days of warmth
while Winter grey and mist surround me tight.
November when the lamp is on all hours,
till it’s Spring, all’s dead, no colours and no flowers too.
So until then I wait for sparks of light,
a candle shiver on a Christmas eve,
a star, a lighthouse beam, a smile,
and once a while a letter sent by you.