Blizzard?
My path is white by blinding snow;
Cold stabs me like a knife.
Needles of ice the wind doth blow;
Blizzard threatens to take my life.
Against the wind I stumble and fall;
Knees bruised on the frozen glaze.
Path blocked where it’s safe from all;
My cold mind fogs in its arctic haze.
Tortured fingers have lost their feel;
Through frosted glasses I try to peer.
Hardened feet of icy stone I must deal;
This terror in winter is near fatal I fear.
“Come,” calls
my wife a voice of grace,
“Dummy, turn the snow thrower from your face!”
