Frozen Pond

A winter day, snow has fallen.

A month comes and still no pollen.

Your blood turns cold,

Leaving a mess of a trail.

Your hour runs dry,

A soundless echoing wail.

The hills stretch so far and wide,

their reach flying a distance.

Of a heart so resistant,

And made of frozen defiance.

Now lean over the Frozen Pond,

And get ready to be swept off your feet.

So unusual a month it seems,

To begin this year it sparks fire that gleams.

Oh the chills make home, such a taste one knows none as defeat.

Of this cold mindless month one knows only to retreat.