The frigid air bit and snapped at my nose,
And consumed my feet in immobilizing ice.
The crimson surface supported my toes,
And the screen illuminated my face: it feels nice.
The moon looms in the black sky, shaking its head,
Because this decision was inane: why did I even come?
I check again, no emboldened letters. Soon this will be dead.
But I await my companion's arrival, because the harsh winds refuses to let me run.