Cold Sun

The storm has ended.
The temperature dropped.

I suddenly remember
Cold Ice Box.

Chopping out blocks
Loading and hauling.

Horses whimper
Wooden runners thumping.

Over the ground they grind
Hear the hooves drumming?

Something so simple
The storm leaving reminds me.

Bring in the Brass Monkey
Other people joke, glibbly.

People live in this climate
And do so willingly?

Moving South sounds so appealing
Live where the warmth is, choice States revealing.

Nah, this is our place here
Has been for years now,

No one will leave here
It's become pride to stay, and how.

Winter will pass soon
Summer return.

Memories of Cold then
In Summer heat we will yearn.

Wherever we are
Whatever we do

Whichever Season is passing,
Is the one we will Rue.