January by John Updike

The days are short,

The sun a spark,

Hung thin between 

The dark and dark. 

Fat snowy footsteps

Track the floor. 

Milk bottles burst

Outside the door. 

The river is

A frozen place

Held still beneath

The trees of lace. 

The sky is low

The wind is gray. 

The radiator

Purrs all day.