I waited and waited at the edge of the road,
a futile hope and nothing more,
as I bit my knuckles in the cold.
The pale wash of headlights on the tip of my toes,
cells froze and withered inside my bones,
there was no sign of what I was looking for.
Call of birdsong over the hills, through the trees,
drifted through the blizzard wind and winter breeze,
settled like frostbite blues inside of me.
I waited and waited there,
at the edge of the road,
until the cold got too much to bear.
I waited and waited but there was nothing there.
