In the hush of winter’s breath,
January whispers tales untold,
Blankets of snow weave a gentle path,
As the world turns quiet and cold.

The trees stand bare, yet proud they seem,
Guardians of secrets in icy night,
Their branches sketch dreams in the moonbeam,
Embracing the soft, silvery light.

Footprints mark the silent streets,
Echoes of journeys that have begun,
January’s promise, a heart that beats,
With every rise of the pale sun.

In the chill, hope finds its place,
Nestled in the heart of the frost,
January’s grace, a gentle embrace,
Of new beginnings and paths crossed.