In January’s chill, the whispers grow,
Silent echoes of the fallen snow,
A time when dreams are softly spun,
Beneath the pale and distant sun.

The world is wrapped in a frosty veil,
As night descends with a gentle hail,
Stars like diamonds in the sky,
Illuminate the days gone by.

Trees stand bare, their branches stark,
Against the winter’s quiet mark,
Yet hope blooms in the coldest air,
A promise of spring’s tender care.

January whispers secrets old,
In stories of the brave and bold,
As we gather warmth and light,
To face the year’s new flight.