Men in furry coats, walking on the frosty grass,
Dew drops, on every leaf in this grey foggy landscape.
A blue moon, shining through dead trees, is cast,
Blue face, the hikers from their icy fate can't escape.
I, here in my lodge, heating is a blue flame,
Watching strangers struggling silently,
A roar, I hear, a rattle of chains,
The coldness, an icy lancer, whistles violently.
I step out. The cold attacks. I shiver and shiver.
My face now blue, the fog deep grey.
I step, carefully, across a frozen river.
The hikers stare, dead eyes and nothing to say.
They lie on the colourless, icy grass.
They, fallen. I see their struggle.
I bring them in, to the warm side of the glass.
Fire still blue, faces red, they sleep and snuggle.