Held captive and locked inside,
Mom says "no" when I ask to go outside.
"The ground is too icy and you will catch cold,
besides, you've all these nice Christmas toys," she consoled.
Indeed, Santa was generous this year,
but, icy or not, the outdoors is what I revere.
Full of disappointment, I sit at my windowsill;
the chilly air is evident showing a white covered hill.
Indifferent, I neglect all the new toys in my room.
Instead, I sit gazing with wonderment at the earth's costume.
Oh, if I could be set free I would take it all in;
I'd roll in the snow, hug the tree, all in great admiration.
If I could, I'd let all the children come out and play;
we'd build snowmen and throw snow balls all the day.
But only a fantasy, I know Mom's always right.
Still, I don't mind if I get the frost bite.
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