Winter Home
William Ma
Winter winds grasp at the passerby’s coat,
The cold it brings paralyzing his face,
He has not been home, he looks at his note,
From his son, he missed him at the fireplace,
He treks on home through the cumbersome snow,
Frostbite nipping at his white fingernails,
Even so the note could not be let go,
He kept on going, to little avail,
A train in the distance was howling loud,
Giving him spirit to keep on his track,
He wants to go to his family proud,
The walk he assumed seemed like an attack
In little time he was almost at home,
And finally, he was not all alone.
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