Classic Poem

Rough and dark — the Cold Mountain trail,
Sharp cobbles — the icy creek bank.
Yammering, chirping — always birds
Bleak, alone, not even a lone hiker.
Whip, whip — the wind slaps my face
Whirled and tumbled — snow piles on my back.
Morning after morning I don't see the sun
Year after year, not a sign of spring.