The cold wages on,
penetrating the warmth within
which we dearly hold onto.
It blows and blows, never
stopping, never slowing, always there
assailing our hopes that spring
will save us soon.

We wait. We wonder:
if it will ever end, if Jack
will call off his force
of unwanted gusts and swirls.
No.
It will never stop, for
no man will stand up against him
and thaw-out his heart
which is frozen to its
very core.
So cold is it, that everything he touches
is forever lost to a
world of fearful frost.

The fires burn out,
the windows leak in cold.
We use strong blankets for protection, but
even the smallest hole grants power
to the draft that enters it.
They torture us from the inside-out,
winning the fight.
But we wait, for the worst
has yet to come.

No one know when
this battle, this war, this
Reign of Terror, will end, or,
if it will ever end.
All that remains is to
wait for the liberation from this
weapon they call 'Frost'.