Winter Sun, Hamilton, Montana

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
And parkas pile up
Near the door.

The river is
A frozen place
Held still beneath
The trees’ black lace

The sky is low.
The wind is gray.
The radiator
Purrs all day.