When it is dark outside, the windows flaunt reflections of the inside..

Two windows in front of me stand,
framed, silent and bland.

Peeks a tall chimney from one,
two dry branches with no sun.

I see a shelf full of books,
some for 'em cooks;

A little bottle of rye,
around the corner of my eye.

But then it's all me,
two feet next to my tea.