The cold is my brother

The cool air calls my name,
As a drunkard calls for their child.
Born of the cold, with no flame,
I am keen to answer.

“Winter is coming.”
A formidable phrase for most,
For they fear of cold most numbing.
I welcome it, with gloves off.

The icy road is our arena,
I submit the advantage.
It lunges like a northern hyena,
Teeth tearing at what it can.

Flesh exposes bone,
But no blood comes forth.
The cold should have known,
My blood is frozen, like ice.

With no more fight left,
I take one swing.
Committing a true theft,
Stealing the cold’s wind.

Fallen to the ground, it sits.
The cold awaits their cruel fate.
Instead of giving it hits,
I offer my cold hand,
And I help the cold stand.

For the cold is calling,
And I welcome it as a brother.