We gape as we passed through,

the disastrous wasteland covered in ice

and filled with heaps of mechanical wreckage.

It's been days since we were last here.

We fled in a hurry,

filled with excitement,

anxious to see our beloved relatives.

Up north they live,

but their home doesn't look like ours.

Theirs wasn't ravaged by an icy beast,

but I guess it's just where we settled,

where we chose to live out our lives.

We were anxious to see our family, 

but we love our home,

and that's where we're headed now.

The road before us is covered in white death,

on either side the wreckages lay.

Tomorrow they'll be gone,

wiped away and forgotten.

We slowly inch our way home,

as I pray that we won't be another wreckage.

We're almost there,

one more turn and we're home.

The twinkling white lay all around,

beautiful, chilling death,

the only thing that separates us from our home.

We will surely be another wreckage if we plow to the garage,

but we stop in the street and everyone hops out,

leaving me behind.

They all trample to the garage, 

the white death seeping into their bones,

licking their toes,

hoping for a bigger bite.

But it never does.

Because we fought through the grogginess

and brought ourselves home.