Warmth in the Chill

Digging deep in the back of the shelf,

a dented thermos—old stories in stealth.

I twist the lid, it groans in protest,

but warmth escapes, a soft, golden jest.

Steam curls upward, a ghost from the past,

each sip recalls the moments that last.

Outside, the cold bites with sharp, icy teeth,

but here in my hands, a memory's sheath.