Cold

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Fresh snow
with the same fox trail
ahead of us
each morning.

The cold at times
becomes unmovable,
but we must
meet her at her throat;

we must reach down
inside ourselves
for strength,
or
we will be swallowed up

like the coyote
that morning
who stood his ground,
unmovable.

1 Comment

Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, Poetry

One response to “Cold

  1. Beautiful, Ethel. Hope that you and Tom and all your family had a warm and wonderous Christmas. May blessings abounds for you and yours in the New Year and far beyond. XO ♥

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