Snow claims walkways: restless crystals, <br />like they are at its mercy, but who really is, <br />which is the test of wind, or the speed of air. <br />Intimately involved, shovel and man? Most <br />of what you do is survive: Donner Party terms, <br />lachrymose stares. The hills tear up at <br />the mention of beauty, the only <br />glimmer of its truly gimcrack soul, now <br />hastily swirling: white twisters not believed. <br />Sometimes the boys slide into sad ditches, <br />pulled out by workmen, summoned in confusion, <br />but not before resolve has been unleashed, <br />(while egos are sated by wind chill factors) <br />and slick roads have been placed into perspective.<br /><br />Lamont Palmer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/city-of-coldness/
