When your toes are curled up and your fingers are numb,
When you step into the cold, it has just begun.
When your nose is red and your eyes are wide,
When the ground is sparkling white, so is the sky.

Under the snow is dirt and sticks,
Under the snow is bugs, maybe even tics.
In the snow is tracks and clues from within,
In the snow it shows, to where things have been.

After I’m done playing for the day,
After I finished, the more I wished I could have stayed.
So long snow and ice, I’ve had fun,
But after all, I miss the sun.
—Besides, this is Texas.