Icicles Have Formed On My Feet

Icicles have formed on my feet
Frost covers my glasses.
Fog smothers the air I breathe.
It is cold outside.

The heater is working hard
But failing to produce.
The radio is announcing
Something worse to come.

Will Ice fall from the sky
and coat the world with glass?
Will its freezing arms stretch out
and strangle electricity’s heat?

My home will become like a barren dungeon.
Bereft of all warmth
With no fire to light
Even blankets will provide little comfort.
It is cold outside.