Cold

The air was cold and sharp Allowing nothing but the strange sound of a harp Ensuring the hope of a peaceful death Staring at nothing but the visible breath Snow was heavy and day was dusk Freezing the remains of every husk Keeping heads low to escape the wind And showing low morale in every limb For the cold will creep up into the mind Knowing that it will be anything but kind With every mistake is closer to eternal sleep To survive the limits will be more than steep Inciting that you are nothing but a sheep