As the Winter Winds...

Now that December is halfway done, I wake up to the morning sun,
the skies cry out in shades of grey, here it comes another winters day
the snow delays the falling on the streets, where revolutionaries had foregone speech
as cannons still make their presence made, on cobblestones the hearts still beat, beat.
Winters deathly cold we'll see what is in store.
Boston's ghosts are knocking, knocking about my door.