Ode to the sound of the furnace in winter
 
As the snow piles up outside,
we lie in bed and talk.

A streetlight illuminates the flakes
that brighten the bedroom window.

We pull the covers to our chins
and turn our heads to the flakes.

The room beyond the covers
grows cold until a low rumble
adds its voice to our voice.

We snuggle even more warmly
into the covers and watch the flakes
shine through the window.

You turn to me and say,
“Lucky me, lucky you, lucky us!”