The storm of wind and cold, uncovered those sheltered
It ripped the cover off the stable land, coloring it white
There was violence in that cruel wind, pain in the frigid
The region, frozen pale white, all beings surrendered
Those still outside when it turned dark, died in the night
Many generations since passed, few can truly remember
The day passed, yet the storm is still seen as wicked
No one was left to argue otherwise, no longer alive
But the land still showed scars, and it remembered
The natural world never asks for your permission
To live, you must etch out your will to survive
