Winter, I've realized, is harsh on you.
From you getting ill quite often,
To your frequent hunger,
And your sleepless nights,
To the constant absence of warmth.
Not only in your house, but also in your heart.

I laugh about how often you're hurt in one way or another,
And though it lightens the mood, know I do worry.
You're sick a little-lotta much,
And half the time when I come home and call you,
A digit of your finger has fallen off,
Or your eyeball has burst into flames.

You tend not to have enough food in your house,
And especially not your stomach,
So I was delighted to see your satisfaction with the steak I made,
A smile that food used to never bring to your beautiful face.
I know you don't rest nearly enough

And I wish I could help you more your sleepless nights
So I'll keep writing my poems.
I know you read fast,
And there could never be enough words for your eyes to lay upon,
But what are words without somebody to appreciate them.

I know you're cold every minute without me,
From not enough food,
Water,
Warmth,
Or enough me

And as you know, I'm not religious I don't pray,
But instead I take action.
I started with teddy bears,
And I'll continue to buy them,
Because if you can't have me all the time,
Then you should at least have a piece of me.

I would sear you every steak,
Since you now have a favorite food.
I would cuddle you every night,
And you'd never want to let me go
I would give you every blanket,
But they'll never be fluffier than me,
And I promise to keep you warm,
Not just only on the outside.