The colder lines, they creep and crawl,
Upon my skin, they leave their mark.
A shiver runs, an icy thrall,
A chill that grips my very heart.
The winter winds, they howl and moan,
A mournful song, a dirge for spring.
The darkness falls, a heavy stone,
A shroud that smothers everything.
The trees are bare, the fields are white,
A world that's cold and stark and dead.
The only warmth is in the fight,
To keep the bitter cold at bay.
But even as the lines get colder,
My heart beats on, a steady drum.
For in the darkest, coldest shoulder,
There lies the hope for warmth to come.
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