I bid you welcome, cold,
your emanations descend again.
Are you here to remind me
winter has freed its holding pen?
I will not allow your blowing misery,
To claim this day as a victory,
Creep around the trees and corners,
Show yourself as an itinerant mourner,
What you are I see,
Not a reflection of what is to be,
I hear the warning of your arrival,
Yet today we wait not upon death,
For tonight is about survival,
Until the morrow’s first breath.