Down the lane lined with pines, I walked
With my hands and ears tightly tucked.
My heavy-booted feet making a print,
Ensuring I do not end in a splint The sun yellow, yet its heat buttered
By the cold breeze blowing undeterred.
The trees stripped of its leaves,
Flaunting its sturdy sleeves. Tiny droplets of something white and cold
Fell from heavens onto my jacket’s fold.
Pouring over the paths its icy white gleam,
In my head, the snow played the GoT theme
