I lament my ill circumstance
As I clutch upon the draw,
Of boreal winds while memories froth
That I struggle to recall.
Staring down the blackened white
Remaining calm against the gale,
That within the bitter night I find
I am lonesome, and I exhale.
Someone or something brought forth this rage,
This fury, or sheer displeasure.
I wound up here, one way or another,
So I\'m sure it\'s in good measure.
This chill does naught to aid my thirst,
Nor does my hunger for the weather.
I wonder what shall kill me first,
My broken heart, or frozen feathers.