I walk alone, my feet thump on the paving stone.

The winds chill breath, hastens me to the doors of death.

The pump of my heart, so loud it gives me a start.

A prickle on my neck makes me look back and check,

But alas I am alone, with nothing but my feet on the paving stone.

The leaves rasp a dry song; I have been silent so long,

I let my voice ring forth, I sing about the north

Of the nip of torrent storms, shadow hidden forms,

Wavering calls in the dark of night, the moon full at its height,

Scuffled snow, and the sudden silence like a blow,

This is my frigid home, yet here I am destined to roam

All alone, with my feet hitting the paving stone.