Treasures of the snow

When the snow bends above me,

And finds the air too cold to sleep,

I will tell my dream to solve the mystery,

That many winters have died to keep.

When I fall asleep in pipe drawn sheet,

I will travel through the snow in my dream,

And keep nothing more discreet,

Than the treasures I have seen.

The navigation shakes every sail,

Drifts with floating clouds unrelenting,

Carried by the morbid winds of integrating gale,

A force so dynamic we shelter from its terrain.

I search for treasures of the snow gently,

Skiing down the path on a fanned driven sledge,

With void fear to the tip of atrocious enmity,

Where icicles hung like ropes from the window ledge.

To solve the mystery on the seat that had no heat,

My foot print paddle repeatedly in the snow,

Adrenaline flow through the ice cold street,

Climb up to a place beyond the rainbow.

Where the power of fire and hail, display the snow,

Through the atmosphere and particular cold air,

I found the treasures ravine that images never know,

Has the annoyances and power to set the world on fire.