Snow is falling aloft the frozen mud.
Perhaps a symbol to us, the covering of our troubles and sins.
The pure white bandage covering all the blood.
The wound still prominent under our skin.
We know it's there but we never look and all we can do is wait.

The prickling cold claims the lives of all but one solider.
Now who can stop him who stands against the flames of war, And then again the icy- hot of loneliness?
He has won this war but he still has more to fight.