It's all relative
When asked in winter how I'd like to die
I tell the questioner it's death by fire,
But when in sweltering heat of sun I lie,
I choose a death of Ice much to my ire.
Multi-pointed Daggers from the Sky
If snow didn't come from the skies,
I'd venture it came from hell.
When others see a bed of joy,
I see a blanket of misery.
When others see fluffy crystals from the heavens,
I see multi-pointed daggers at terminal velocity.
When others see fun in snow balls and forts,
I see four long months.