The great divide, dark and cold,
waving east with blowing snow.
Icy patches, bergs ahead,
can’t travel here you’ll sink instead.
Feels like negative, my lips do tell,
as frost develops on those licked so well.
Crossing is not so easy, around I must go,
slippery and slick are the roads below,
of the great divide, dark and cold.
Keystroke Stories 