Snowbound 23 to Lonely

It snowed once last fall,
Snowbound, and I wrapped in my clad shawl,
Wandering if dreams were meant to be life at all.

With emotion of simplicity and lack,
I fondled through cabinets in search of nutmeg sack,
I searched for matches in the drawer below,
And looked up to the absence of mistletoe.

A knock at my door, a thought of carolers or children to adore.
With cold embracing my wrinkled skin,
My porch was empty,
A sad revelation, inviting disappointment once again.

My snowbound days are painted grey.
"Picture shows" of family snows leave me ill with sorrow.

I have no spices, no candles...no mistletoe.
I have no carolers, nor children to know.
My first snowfall was in 23,
And my last was cold and lonely...just sorrow and me.