Ice cream bars

Tucked deep in her coat-pocket

They won’t melt.

She trudges on in the icy whiteness.


Crinch, crunch, crinch, crunch

Sound of snow

Being stomped on and crushed

Under boots so heavy.


“Mommy, are we there yet?”

The question lingers in the chilly air.

On they walk.


Gray sky, no clouds,

Howling winds and noses cold,

On they trudge.