Cold from Robin Red by Paul Otteson

It’s cold
And the dogs are hungry, hurting
Hexed now as they roam
And how they tip the scale
Knowing not the way back home
Bloody eyes of torment fixed upon the silent road

I’m told
That snow is death’s bed calling
For a body to untoe
And his blankets burn
Hotter than the victor’s shore
Heavy-handed is the knock upon my weary door

How hard the wind doth blow
How far I’ve yet to go

He’s near
The bells are ringing cross the sadness of the sky
How he pushes on
Careless of the lonely ride
Teeth grinding for the chance to bring this to a fight

I fear
That what I’m taking will be painful when it’s mine
Until my heart it thaws
And the limbs of time unwind
Hold steady for the victory I will always ride

How calm my pack does fly
No fall could break their stride
Push on with all your might
Our bounds are not in sight

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