Sentries

It was moonlight on snow; it was twenty below,
And the Wyoming cold settled in.
The night was so chilled that the star twinkle stilled
In the air dry as martini gin.

I sat there alone, in that place I called home,
And I gazed through a frost-covered pane.
There were  trees standing guard, with their limbs frozen hard,
At attention all night they’d remain.

The moon was so bright, you could read by its light,
And the cold made the house creek and moan.
To that pane I was drawn, till the sun met the dawn,
Finding me sitting there all alone.

In defeat I have fled, from that climate so dread,
And it seems like a long time ago.
When I sat there that night, in the eerie moonlight,
With those sentries alone in the snow.

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