Solitary Road

A poem about loneliness in a cold place.

I slip on ice beneath my feet,
Desiring the fire now,
For that sweet, sultry lore of heat,
Can bring me solitary care;
I’ll ease on into my room to-
Day, and turn, should I dare, the card,
And play a game of solitaire,
In a cozy space beyond the yard;
I think that I should not abode,
When wild, winter winds whistle,
To perch on Solitary Road,
I’d rather delight in ember;
I know not if it’s dusk or dawn,
With the sunlight hidden by the snow,
And the trees don’t suffice me much,
They’ve been placed there to block the glow;
The snow crunches crisply under,
My leaden foot by blood and tear,
In the heat, I seek to wonder,
And chance, once more, solitaire;
I break away from bitter white,
And carouse myself through the door,
So I can be sheltered away,
Concealed in solitary lore;
The fire is soothing but too hot,
I’ve bent my brittle deck of cards,
Worn down by solitaire we rot,
My eyes on Solitary Road.