As I venture from
the warm embrace of home
I feel the biting of high north winds
and the chill caress of winter's hand.
A slow lethargy tries to creep into my limbs
and my scoured face with expression grim.
The sky still reflects the night not yet gone,
my breath form clouds and fade away.
Soon icy fingers will point from up above
and a cold blanket will cover all in white.
While I am greeted by this frosted land,
oh how I long to be someplace warm.
I cannot think of a good title for this one.
Did not want to use too many common 'cold' words, such as freezing, ice, icicle (though did use icy), frozen, and snow. So I used metaphors and descriptions instead. Seems a little short to me, as not much happens in the poem.