The cold air seeped down with no heart,
What was once a sea of beauty and life,
Now had been turned to a grave of white and death,
The city had almost all but stopped living too.

Morning turned to night and yet all was still bright,
Panicking for necessities like bread and milk,
As if they were a commodity like gold and silk,
There was no lease from this grip of icy might.

The Robins so proud with their coats of glorious red,
Out playing like children on a canal iced bed,
Scattering wild seed around upon the snow covered ground,
Bobbing along like cheeky cherubim gathering with a chirpy sound.

A man stands in the not so far distance,
Stood outside clearing snow as it's finally stopped,
I ask and offer myself to give some assistance,
Is seems the final flakes have now dropped.

A path slowly appears as do others now congregate,
Friends, brothers, sister's all one with a common goal,
Time rolls on but we persist as it gets late,
A United effort from one and all like a heart to a soul.

(C) Grant Dickson 21/03/2018