Poem; What's to come.

I know that winter is on the way,
When my paper says,
Snow up north.
Predictions are flying around,
Will there be snow on the ground
On Christmas Day, who is to say?
The long grey days are here
And lights go on at three
In the afternoon, and soon
The bitter cold will arrive,
Yet somehow we survive.
A Robin sat on my window-sill,
In his posh red jacket
He trilled away, making my day.
It was decades ago when I
Loved the snow, and skating
On the pond, which Joyce
And I were fond.
Sliding along the road to school
On the ice, oh! so cool.
But now I view winter from
My chair, silent and still outside,
As if there is no-one else
In the world.
Augustine Nash.