Snow crunches under his feet

Like crumbling ice, like broken glass,

Like splintered fragments covering the land.

The cold wind stings his skin,

The chilly mist obstructing his vision.

It's far from a winter wonderland.

Coffee stores out of business,

It is another street full of the ubiquitous melancholy.

A lone streamer hangs from a door.

He tumbles down on the frosty ice,

Dissolving into the endless gloom.

It's hard to believe it's Christmas anymore.