There are so many warmer months.
We could have set it to begin in March,
Or in April, trees and flowers bright,
And a soft wind reminding us of life.
We could have started it anew in May,
Or perhaps in June, late though it is,
In warmth and bright sunlight,
Good tidings for a better year.
But instead we watch our breath as it fogs,
And the fireworks burn cold in the sky,
And our teeth chatter like sparklers.
Bright shows of light in the darkness,
Start the new year off, and snow.
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