Is it best to lie in the snow
And let a scream out to the world?
To speak of ideas that have swirled,
Have fallen to the ground as slow?

Waiting for the damp heavy weight
That likes to linger on my chest
To take the fingers it has pressed
And lift them from my weak breastplate.

O, how I wish the weight was gone,
To drift away as the clouds do.
Will the weight let me call out to
The mountains holding up the dawn?

I could stand to learn a few things
From how the snowflakes like to fall.
Melting so exquisite and small,
Their bitter cold into nothing.