The cold hangs tough, even after time springs forward
The chill threatens to homestead deep within my marrow
A few more robins will boost the morning chorus
Songs for survivors, the margin for nature is narrow
—
In my dreams, I am sailing far away
After an interlude of modeling beach swimwear
There’s only Key West breeze on my burnt face
If this was my final winter, they’ll be no fanfare
—
I waken to the frantic tapping on the panes
Gusts of semi-frozen rain blanket my world
It’s one against the force of the angry heavens
Dare I raise challenge to God’s might unfurled
—
Instead of confronting this late arriving bluster
I plug every crack and crevice, standing my ground
Should I perish, frozen and buried without a trace
When the wildflowers awaken, I will be found
Ticket 2 Ride 
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