peaks burdened with white snow,
mountains blow heavy and low.
they breathe upon my neck
and kiss my face gentle and slow.

abashed for all its warmth gone.
lazy sun lunges off the horizon,
with a promise to the clouds grey; it says,
"I shall return with all my might,
and set you ablaze in my shade;
to the world to delight,"

Sit here I with my quandary,
I keep wondering if the summer heat is any better than the cold kiss of January.