January Sunday

A little bit grayer, just a touch sadder

A little less hair now, that’s what the hat’s for

Winters keep coming, Summers keep going

Trading the sunshine, for ice, cold and snowing

As I look out the window, from the warmth of my arm chair

Snowflakes and memories, dance through the cold air

Faces draw near now, and then disappear

Of people I’ve known and loved through the years

I float through the corridors and halls of the past

And recline my warm chair, for a cold Sunday’s nap