Through the whistle of chilly winds
I hear whispers luring me to play on snow.
Shall I go? Or shall I stay?
I just don’t know.
I might frost my ears or my nose.
Thank you, but I choose to stay where it is warm.
But winds came stronger and blew on me,
“Come on! Come out and play with snow while it’s not gone.”
I sit on my needles, debating the request.
Then again winter won’t last forever, and I walk out in a storm.