The two gloves, hand in hand,
Swing far above the cold pavement.
Even the night
Cannot dull or blur the glow of the snow,
The brilliance of the smile,
Or the memory of this walk preserved in a footprint.
One thousand, two thousand - casual pace is kept with each footprint,
And three thousand, four thousand, swings the hand.
Refreshing and relieving becomes the sight of the smile
The firm pavement
Cannot ground them: cannot compete with the enchanting snow
Or the uplifting mystery in the night.
Quiet is the night.
Pregnant is the footprint.
Lustrous is the snow.
Dependent is the hand.
Static is the pavement.
Explosive is the smile.
It's easy to coax the mouth into a smile,
And a warm breeze displaces the night
That hovers over the black pavement.
The boot seems to linger long after it abandons the footprint.
The air seems slow to envelope the absence of the hand.
Chalk it up to the magic in the snow.
Hair sprinkled with snow,
Face adorned with smile,
Hand in hand,
In from the night -
Muddy is the footprint
On the carpet versus pavement.
The cold, hard pavement
Led them home through the snow.
Their trail of four times a footprint
Makes the moon above appear to smile
Down on the blazing fireplace this night
And the two lives hand in hand.
The hand is warmer than the pavement,
And through the night falls the magical snow
That gives the smile and bears the footprint.
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