Ice frosting this hill.
Choking and twisting my will.
Slipping I struggle to my feet.
Falling backwards,bewildered still.
Shoving myself forward ,
Allowing my love to spill,
Wind so cold and treaterous,
my spirit it stuggles to kill.
March onward;one step,two steps more.
I am not accepting warm retreat.
The end is not the final score.