To all those who wait across seas, I write to you tonight, Dreaming of long fields with cold frosted white.  How fare the farms, the orchard trees?  Do rivers flow quiet still with ease?  Can you hear the children laugh, the voices sing, And tell me, does winter's breath already sting?  I see you often in the night,  Your face half-hidden, turning to me, veiled in moonlight.  The kettle hums, the table's spread,  Your laughter ringing through my head.  The cows mooing down th