Was I supposed to veer left at the fork in the road
or should I continue with here I tread?
So much confusion from the signs I read.
Is it too late to find my way?

I long to be home, finding comfort next to the fire.
It is winter and the air is bone-chilling;
memoirs of love being my last inner killing.
Please, Frost, help me find a way!

It's not too late! It's not too late!
Branches scrape as the dead oaks howl.
Fear is the new survival, reality now foul.
I cannot seem to find the path.

Minutes felt like hours, days felt like years,
and memories of a home soon began to fade away.
It was the fear and doubt that led me astray.
I don't think I can make it..

My legs collapse and the pile of snow welcomes me.
With a final look, I see a flickering, dim light.
Home! I crawl frantically through blightful white.
The light flickers desperately...then, night.

*I guess I was too late