The buck shivers, his body tingling with frostbite,
this unknown disease that captures a soul in cold
and freezes limbs until they turn black and die.
He lies there amid a blanket of white, legs curled under,
head resting on his knees, eyes shut tight and ears laid back.
He can't feel most of his body, except for that stinging pain
that felt like a million ants crawling over him all at once.
His pulse was slowing, he could feel that much,
and he was growing tired, growing sleepy.
He had spent many days walking,
trying to escape this horrid whiteness that he had never seen before,
but he knew now it had all been in vain.
His limbs had given out from under him,
and he had crashed painfully to the rock-solid ground,
to the frozen over mud, and this is where he lay now,
and knew it was where he would lie forever more.
But there was just one thing he wanted to know
before he let Death drag him away,
just one question that floated about in his mind as
he opened his heavy eyes to take one last look
at the world around him:
What are these pieces of white falling from the sky,
beautiful and yet deadly?
Taking pity on this poor creature, User Image
MotherFather took a deep breath,
pulling in a sharp wind across the land and spoke
just a single word: snow.
And that one word rang in his head until his mind quieted and stilled forever.
But before he finally closed his eyes, he tilted his head back,
watching these graceful flakes, the last thing he ever saw,
and muttered hoarsely,
"White..... Snow.... White....."