Snowstorm

I look out onto whitened street
And feel the cold within my bones
As every footprint creaks and groans
With moving snow beneath my feet
Complaining even in retreat
Of my indecent haste in tones
Beneath my notice, but whose moans
Still make unpleasant even fleet
Excursions out. And so I sit
Inside, and ponder having gone
To places distant, where the dawn
Warms the sky, and won't admit
Such cold complaint; and there you are
From cold and me both far too far.