We burn torches all through the nights,
and sing for the sun to melt the snow,
but dawn comes dim and gray and cold,
Some of us want to climb the mountain,
to kill the ice worm that breathes down snow,
but others insist there'd be no point,
it's long since dead.
How do you explain this, then? they ask,
nodding at the bleak land. Others scoff.
Aye, and what of the last four years?
Spring and sunshine.
Could be it's just been asleep, they say,
sort of hibernating, you don't know,
and on they argue, while the snow falls,
falls and falls.
In the end a small group goes out,
vanishing in the gray and the white,
and after we've been waiting three days,
the skies clear.
The sun starts turning snow into streams,
and we sing thanks that spring has come,
but when we climb the mountain to search,
we find nothing.
Prompted again by the Poem A Day Challenge, "Monster". Fun.