Standing amidst swirling snow
Six shivering souls survey the
Windswept scene from atop a
Steep slope.
Slowly, stoically,
The shaking six, scared silly,
Unsteadily stack themselves
On their flimsy sled.
Instantly springing southward
The supplicants, eyes squeezed shut,
Speed swiftly through the
Sizzling snowspray
Down the slippery surface,
Skid aside over a surprising rise,
Sail the sky and
Suddenly sweep
Nose first into a
Sizable snowbank.
There the stack stiffens and stays,
A pile of pringles
Stuck like a frozen
Senseless statue,
Icicles hanging from their noses.
"Someone will find them in the
Spring and wonder what happened,"
A shuffling passerby whispers
To himself
Minding his own business.