It is cold
And impossible
To get across the street
And buy my comic books
I will wait while longer
Going in and out
Of my father's big browned stoned building
Up and down the stoop
In and out of the high ceiling rooms. see
The windows are large
And forever and a day
I could watch the horses and their carriages
Sledge through the slush
Making tracks as they go
At last I rush out
To get my comic books, stamping through the snow
And return to read them
Near the window
Near the radiator
That hums like the snowy wind
And steams like the window
Like the snow steams
The air way way down the street
Soon the afternoon comes upon us
And my father bundles up
For a walk in the snow and the air grayed with flurries and
With your black umbrella we walk
Down the street past all
Of the brown stoned buildings
Pats lamp posts and past
People dressed like ourselves
To the big department store
Where my father buys me
A little red car
And treats me to a hot cocoa