The chill of winter snow produces ice
whose frozen qualities numb everything
possessing semblances that might entice
the human heart away from every sting.
I notice as more snow accumulates
my tendency to be a sort of lump
that gathers little from the world's debates
except in terms of harboring some thump.
Our fingers measure coldness carefully
as takers of large steps that could suggest
protracting parts of human misery
to proof despair is always at its best.
When snow and ice combine, then harden up,
we might suppose the time has come to sup.