The Blizzard That Rang The Doorbell

In January’s grip, a blizzard roars, A white tempest tapping at the doors. With icy fingers and breath so chill, It dances wildly, with time to kill.

It sweeps through streets in a frenzied ballet, Drifting snowflakes in the moon’s pale ray. Houses huddle, cloaked in frosty lace, While winter’s artist paints each face.

A knock, a whisper, upon the pane, The blizzard beckons with its icy refrain. “Come out, come out,” it seems to implore, Weaving frosty webs across the floor.

Trees stand guard, in snowy shrouds dressed, Branches like fingers, in cold caress. The night air echoes with blizzard’s song, A melody where the wild winds belong.

Underneath the sky, so wide and so vast, The world is transformed, in winter’s cast. In the heart of the storm, all is surreal, As January’s blizzard rings the doorbell.