Snowy paths, risk to freeze

It hurt, the slightest breeze

And it was as hot as full

Just as hard as wool

Couldn’t be colder, nor sadder

Couldn’t stomp the first step of the ladder

Just the zero of temperature there

And what is this cold air?

Like a rotten, broken bridge

Thrustworthy, what natural fridge

Laid misteriously in waiting

For the paths I’d been hating

And the oxygen fled

As from all its body a silhouette bled

The neck faded, dry and dead

As it drowned in the red