The air is solid, save the scent
Of burning wood from houses near;
Each step is slow through knee-deep snow,
This pathway that I need to clear,
And everything is crystalline,
The sight, the realization,
That all that I had hoped to do
Or be’s become frustration
For life is like a spinning plate
We balance as it’s moving;
We meet with frequent accidents,
But hope to keep improving
And days as cold as this one is
Remind us, simply, truly
That stillness is a state of soul,
So not to fret
Unduly
To share is human:
