I sit in the snow,
and I whine and complain that I’m cold.
The flakes fall upon me,
Making me white.
I look clean, but I’m cold.
You stand by Your Fire and beckon to me to come,
To wash in the water You’ve warmed on the flames,
To leave cold and darkness behind.
But I sit in the snow and complain that I’m cold,
And claim I’m too frozen to move.