A Winter's Frost

Nothing new by the wood
Just the frost
That melts
From each branch
And log
As the fireplace bricks
Glow white hot and red
Nothing new
Just placed the cherry kindling
To start it up again
The amber flames are low
A blue and orange glows
Need to use the Pine next
Its sap and oils
Will raise the flames to flicker
So that I could see the Elmwood
And oak logs
Which will then need a good poke
Nothing new by the wood
These oaks will last for three hours
And elm for eight at best
My bones are warmer now
But the last pile
I'll need to fetch
From beneath the porch
Its the storage shed
Fifty below
And nothings moving out there
Only the sound
Of the crunch in the snow
As I walk a new path
Down by the fort
There are rabbit tracks and raccoon
My tracks are the only
Ones misplaced here
I'll lay here for a moment
Just to catch my breath
And to steal some shelter
From what sounds like
A sleeping bear
I'll lay low
So that the wind chill
Will only howl at my scent
And in disappointing moans
Wish that it could
With its bitter cold
And gnashing teeth
Bite for my bones
But let it drool
And savor more
For at my door
There is no welcome
Only storm fences
To catch snow drifts
Ten and twenty five feet high
And an axe
To promise that a will exists
To go forward and find
What needs be met
In life
Whether courage or wood
I press forward and wipe
The ice dripping
From my face
I dare not thirst
For the comfort of my place
I would then fall
And lay complacent
To only dream
What offers I would wish to exchange
For the courage and wood
I would have gathered in vain
Sell my wood and courage
At the market of deceit
What am I then
A man or a mule
Which burdens do I carry
That weigh me most
Pressing me deeper into the snow
My courage or my wood
Which shall I abandon
For a quicker pace
What will I gather to keep them both
Where shall I turn to escape this ghost
A good piece of hickory
A solid log of oak
A cherry kindling
A chimney smoke
Elmwood last for eight hours
And these pines
For two or three at best
Just twenty more paces
To my nest