Snow is beautiful.
That’s what everyone says.
How is it beautiful?
“It is a blank canvas.”
Says artists.
“It makes everything look new.”
Says the city folk.
“It usually means no school.”
Says the children.

Is it beautiful?
Not when you are freezing.
Not when you can see
your skin turning blue.
Not when the shudders
Begin to hurt, you are shaking so bad now.
Not when you realize
That this is the last snow\
That you will ever see.

I feel the first flake on my skin
And I know.
I know that I will freeze.
I will die
and no one will mourn.
No one will even know,
or notice,
or care.
I will leave this world
with no good-byes or tears
I will freeze with my head-held high,
But I leave cold, frightened and alone.