Firewood of love

Food is love, or so I heard,

Be it bread or an old cheese curd.

Warmth is love up here in the cold.

There was a man who nothing but sold

His dear time to chopping piles of wood,

His wife thought this was super slightly rude,

As all he ever did was chop, chop, chop,

He would not take a break, nor would he stop.

When he gained years and was hospitalized,

In the midst of winter, his work was prized.

All he kept asking was “Do you have enough?”

He knew being ice-encased is rough.

Warmth was love for this old man,

The only way to show it, a firewood plan.

If this is the truth of this word of mouth,

Could ice be love down in the deep south?

Or maybe it’s water, I’m sure I don’t know.

Everyone has a different way they show.

Ice wraith

I had a dream where a kid fell down.

Playing on the balcony, playing around.

She didn’t move when the nurses came,

They took her away without getting her name.

Only her shoes left, floating in the air,

I got them down with the help of a chair.

Inspected them and I was surprised,

They were frozen solid, sheer crystallized.

That made no sense, it was not that cold,

Just some snow on the ground all told.

Besides, how would they freeze during the fall?

Strictly no sense, none whatsoever at all.

It had to be an ice wraith, frigid and evil.

A hateful force of nature, primeval.

It had pulled her by her small feet,

Frozen the shoes in an icy heartbeat.

Frozen them from gravity’s grasp,

Frozen her life at the very final gasp.

Why would it do so? I don’t know,

Why are they vile? The cold makes them so.

Sleet

It’s sleet time, get on the street!

Time to fall down in wet, cold sleet!

Pushed by the wind in your two eyes,

It feels like nails as it comes from the skies!

Want to ride a bike? The sleet says “NO!”

You’ll go as fast as the Greenland floe.

Stuck in the groove with no way out,

The sleet attack freezing your leaking snout.

One rotation of pedal gets you what?

No momentum and a cold, wet butt.

Two rotations and the moistness spreads,

Now it’s approaching both of your heads.

Better just lie down still and sleep,

Not really noticing the slow-mo seep.

If you’re quiet, it might go away.

HA! No Chance! It’s sleet all day!

Icy beard

My beard ices up when it’s cold.

White as milk and hard as gold.

Why does this happen? Now I know.

It is because all the sprites of snow,

Also feel cold and want to melt and thaw.

Near my mouth, my gaping maw,

Is a bit warmer with the moist breeze.

A good place to sleep and try not to freeze.

When I step inside after going for a run,

The heat waves roll in one by one,

Wakes up the sprites and they fly away,

Leave their sleepy drool on my gray

And me wondering why my face is wet.

Was it so hot that it’s just sweat?

Diamond rain

It’s -30 with the sun in the sky.

Looking straight at it I almost cry.

Floating snow, drifting down,

An airy blanket on our small town.

Blanket of diamonds, reflecting the sun,

You can wear a coat of diamonds if you run.

I tried going downhill with a sledge,

I got to the hill, until the very edge.

I had to stop and rub my eyes

To stop them from uttering joyful cries.

One of my tears fell and it glistened too,

Frozen on my cheek just like the ones that flew.

I forgot my frozen cheeks and toes,

Looking at the diamonds, my time froze.

Woken up by a friend asking “Why the cold tears?”

“The beauty took away all my worst fears.”

Lobe trouble

Today was cold, colder than before.

How do I know? I lost an ear to the hoar.

Well, just the tip of my leftmost lobe,

It wasn’t covered by my winter wardrobe.

The cold made it numb so I didn’t even notice.

(This was after turning it the pink of a lotus.)

Now there’s a bit of my ear somewhere

Near or on my cycling route I swear.

I had a hat made of wool on my head,

But, being cranially gifted, upward it fled.

Exposed my hearing device of flesh,

Which delighted itself as it felt so fresh.

The delight soon turned into “it’s a bit nippy.”

Which, morphed into a downward trippy.

Oh well, next time I’ll know what to do:

Earmuff-skimask-woolhat times two.

Close to nature

I always wanted to live in the wilds.

Like animals with their innocence of child’s.

It’s just that it’s often cold and wet,

And, if not, then covered in sweat.

It’s not fun and you might even die,

That’s why I got an implant in my thigh.

It covers me with artificial fur,

Soft and warm and scented like myrrh.

I can sleep, in winter or fall,

Under an oak, not cold or wet at all.

I found a foxhole in its old roots,

Stuffed with hair and over ripe fruits.

The foxes adopted me right there and then,

The scent of my fur was the perfectest ten.

Not just close to it, I’m all the way in.

Thanks to implants hidden under my skin.

Fly pullovers

It’s October and it’s getting kind of cold.

Cold toes bother my friends who are old.

Not just people, it bothers all the others.

Tiny, tiny piglets and their suckling mothers.

Insects, have it the absolute worst.

They don’t have clothing, they are cursed.

I saw a fly on my wooden window sill,

Moving slowly, almost staying still.

I felt pity and decided my course:

Needles to knit and hair of a horse.

I made tiny pullovers for flies.

With tiny wing holes and warmers for eyes.

Making them was easier than putting them on,

I caught a fly and second later – gone.

The well-chilled ones were the ones that stayed,

Wings in the holes and then, well played.

One yellow, one red and one bright green.

These are my flies, my clothed flying beans.

Why are trees covered in snow?

There was once a conference quite a while ago.

The attendees were trees as far as I know.

They were worried about what to wear,

During winter in the cold, biting air.

There was pine who was a bit fluky,

His ideas could be just a bit spooky.

He suggested that they should wear flames,

They’d stay warm in their wintry games.

It was the only idea they had: So sure.

As you might imagine, the result was a bit poor.

It did keep them warm and it did it quite well,

Also lit up the world in which they did dwell.

They had one problem: The fire was adventurous,

And its approach to trees was very, very denturous.

The fire escaped and ate: it spread.

It engulfed forests leaving some trees dead.

The trees gathered again after this disaster,

This time listening to their tree-confectionery master.

He suggested everyone should try wearing cake.

It’s beautiful, tasty and it’s easy to bake.

This idea was fine as it worked as expected,

It did look nice and it warmed and protected.

The problems came with the local fauna.

Eat the trees, the animals did wanna.

They weren’t careful, so while they ate,

There was a loss of bark, of leaves and weight.

The trees got cold once again in their plight.

The winter proved almost too tough to fight.

One last summit before they would quit,

One last try before they would submit.

There was one birch who had a thought,

Solution: plentiful snow, the land was fraught.

It seemed silly as snow can be cold,

This was known since the Earth wasn’t old.

But, they tried as they had no choice,

And after some grumbling they did rejoice.

Yes, at first, it feels a bit chilly,

But it’s warmer than the air, and frilly.

It glistens and shines, an illumination:

The trees won’t freeze in any location,

Plus, they can read in the dark quite lightly,

Making the long evenings shine quite brightly.

This is why the trees in wintertime,

Are covered in snowy branches to climb.

Aren’t you glad they decided on snow?

Glue might’ve made forest walks a bit slow.

Entertaining guests

I had a friend visit my home,

These snowy lands that I like to roam.

She’s from the south, used to the heat,

Here it’s the fire that sustains your heartbeat.

She loved the clean forest, pure and white,

The cold not so much, it had a bite.

I took her walking into the woods,

Nature’s filled with our bestest goods.

Rabbit tracks filled her eyes with wonder,

She dove into the snow (no, not a plunder.)

The air’s so fresh it makes you cringe,

The cold invites some ice on your fringe.

She took pictures of trees and fields,

Gigantic spruces: snow storm shields.

I showed her one fun practical joke,

A physical prank familiar to folk.

I told her to stand next to a birch,

Big clumps of snow on its every perch.

“Close your eyes and wait for a sec,

Oh, and also, cover your neck.”

While she’s waiting, I get ready,

Next to the birch, I get steady.

Kick it like a horse, with all my might,

Then look up for a very pretty sight.

Quickly run away four feet or six,

Turn around as she and snow intermix.

Hear the nice scream of joy and fright,

Laugh and howl at her minor plight.

That’s an easy way to trick a land-stranger.

Plus, this trick doesn’t have any danger.