In winter’s house there’s a room
That’s pale and still as mist in a field
While outside in the street every gate’s shut firm,
Every face as cold as steel.

In winter’s house there’s a bed
Is spread with frost and feathers,
That gleams in the half-light like rain in a disused yard
Or a pearl in a choked-up stream.

In winter’s house there’s a child
Asleep in a dream of light that grows out
Of the dark, a flame you can hold in your hand
Like a flower or a torch on the street.

In winter’s house there’s a tale
That’s told of a great chandelier in a garden
Of fire that catches and travels for miles
Of all gates and windows wide open.

In winter’s house there’s a flame
Being dreamt by a child in the night,
In the small quiet house at the turn in the lane
Where the darkness gives way to light.