The bitterness seeps through good woolen coats,
Scarves and gloves and hats;
In this chill we huddle close in the near-empty square.
The things we don’t recall in summer
Come back to us in the cold,
When we pause and look back and remember.
Conserving energy, we hunch over steaming beverages and tell stories of the past
No longer the stale smell of cafe smoke, but we remember it
We think of dates gone by, even recent ones,
We miss old companions and things that might have been
Promises kept and broken, misfortune and good luck,
The things we have cradling the things we lost.