The sky was black and frigid cold, each star wrapped in its cloud. The bitter wind blew brash and bold, it whistled, moaned and howled.
He stood outside the window's glare, obese with body round. His coal black eyes would nought but stare, from mouth came not a sound.
Near seven feet, his silouette, well shadowed on the deck, 'twas on his head a derby set. A scarf around his neck...
His presence here fills me with fright! I wish he'd promptly go! Ah, there's the switch to pow'r the light. Well,well, he's made of snow!
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