Cold hands streak across my face,
Trying to receive some warmth at all,
But I cannot hope to give up the chase
For the cold will not leave me until I fall.
I choose to hide from the whispering winds
And seek my refuge from the brave and bold,
My meekness and shyness rips me from my kin,
And I am left alone in the blistering cold.
The snow falls gently, then quickly, then hard,
And I collapse on the frosted road,
This chase has continued, long and far,
And I can no longer carry this load.
The cold rushes through my every pore,
Ripping the warmth from my longing hands,
And I dream as I lose myself to the horror,
I dream of the sun, and the warmth, and the sand.
