It's cold, but the sun's on my face

A cold damp dew on winter morning, birds sing loud and bright. The winter wind clamps clammy hands. I think I'll be alright. The body's weighed by many things that freeze you to your core, but only for a moment, then the pain felt is no more. It's cold, but the sun's on my face, and the birds all fly, gracefully. It's cold, but the sun's on my face, and seasons do change, thankfully.