When icicles hang by the wall,
When boots stand salted by the door,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
I practice Mozart hopefully,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
I turn the heat up more and more,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
I light a burner, make some tea.

When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul,
Dog’s frozen gifts are in the walk,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
The cat has almost learned to talk.
Tu-whit, Tu-who, a merry note,
The driveway is a skating rink.|
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot,
The frying pan sits in the sink.

Ellen Richards of Bangor is a writer and teaches at the Hammond Street Senior Center. In this poem the long Maine winter gets some much-needed warmth from Shakespeare’s “Love’s Labour’s Lost,” Act 5, Scene 2.