The Frozen Forgotten

A short poem about the lonesomes last attempt to partake.

So small, the lights, this winter night
all distant, but bright, at edge of sight
So far, this man had yet to reach
every step, they seemed a million each

So cold, the snow now claimed his path
the air was torn, by blizzard's wrath
So weak, his voice now cried for aid,
a whisper mere, was all it made.

So warm, it felt, that sudden breeze.
In relief and joy he came to his knees
So blessed, he was, by lordly grace
to reach in time this homely place.

So sweet, he thought the minstrel's song
and ladies there, all danced along
But still he sat, our hero brave
as snow embraced his shallow grave.

The frozen man still sit there yet,
a statue kept so that none forget
to heed not just for hearth and home
but, remember those outside alone.