Brrrrr

Brrrrrr

I wake
In
The
Night,
Before 
Any
Light
As
Gusty
Wind
And
Sharp
Rains
Blow.
In
The
Northern
Sangria
De
Cristo
There
Is
Falling
Snow 
On
Mountain
Tops
Where
I won’t
Go.
Too
Wet,
Too
Cold,
And
I’m
Too
Old,
I fear,
To 
Slide
Down
Hills
And
Chill
My
Rear.
So
If
You 
Please,
I’ll
Stay
Right
Here,
Warm,
Dry,
And
At
My
Ease.