Tromp, stomp, slog, oomph
Trudging through powdery fluff.
Sixteen inches plus twelve more-
Haven’t we got enough?
Complain and moan,
Cry and wail.
Why oh why
Did I choose this trail?
But stop, wait. What’s that sound?
A hopeful whistle just off the ground,
I freeze, I stare, I try to find where
Brave little birds eat without care.
They flit, they call, they sing, they fly.
If they can do it…
Well… So can I.