In the icy grip of winter’s hold,
Comes a feeling that’s bone-chilling cold,
It creeps and crawls through every limb,
And leaves us feeling numb within.
Gwenders, they call this icy curse,
That steals the warmth from deep within our core,
And though we bundle up in layers,
The chill still seeps into our pores.
Our breath turns to frost in the air,
As icicles form in our hair,
And though we long for sun and warmth,
The winter’s hold is still so strong.
But as we trudge through snow and ice,
We find a strength that will suffice,
For in the depths of cold and dark,
We find a light that leaves its mark.
And though the Gwenders may try to win,
We find a warmth that’s deep within,
And with each step we take and breath we draw,
We feel alive despite the winter’s thaw.