Venture
A hill is frosted in ivory
Almost cupcake like-
I venture towards this delicacy
The crunch under my worn boots resonates
I see no one,
Only footprints in the distance
The hill grows closer
A numbing chill
My cheeks feel the icy air, fighting tirelessly to keep warmth
I reach a hunched man
Beard wispy and white
“Old Man Winter,” I presume
Ah yes, he has finally arrived.
Copyright © Dale W.B. | Year Posted 2011
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