I fear the cold
The kind that’s deep;
Preserves or kills,
While fast asleep.

Yet as the snow
Settles from the sky,
My mind finds peace
Without knowing why.

Pure white innocence
Lingering pleasantly,
Is but a ruse
To fool us presently.

The wind that’s harsh
Is a prick of pain,
Those long, choking fingers
Of the ice king’s reign.

This field of beauty
A joyful moment,
Blinks life to death,
A shock, a torment.

Yet winter’s renewing grace,
Its universal task,
Revives us all,
If we wear its mask.