Tisher Beseeches The Gods

"Hear my plea ye Gods of stone and tree, of moon and key, open your ears to this human worm.
The Giants of Winter and Old Night have once more emerged from their mountainous cloister and covered the land with their suffocating frost.
Gods! We wretched slugs despair! And cannot fight the icy hands, deathlike, upon our throats!
Mercy gracious Allfather. Mercy on us, your tortured creations, insipid in our imperfection."

"Oh, capricious Gods! The deaf ear of Dagr cannot deepen my misery.
Frost Giants, red eyed, reek havoc in Jörð's domain.
Soul-sick we swine of Hoárr are herded to a dank and certain doom.
Your paltry poppet doth plead and plead for spring.
Stay the cold! Stay the night!
Stop the frigid kicks to this lone curs side however deserved they may be!"

"How can one feckless nag endure this solitary chill?
Bone-bitten and heart-sore I wander this wasteland in white.
The only comfort- oblivion. The only companion- torment."

"Lo, Gods, see your creature, see him well.
Divine sludge rendered in your image.
Have pity."

-Andrew Tisher on winter in the Midwest