Query any poem you want.

The last run of the day and we made our way

O'er the white and pow'dry snow

But a ringed delight, a welcome sight-

This caused our quest to slow

Wooded walls and lauded falls

Our lips to life this gave

Likewise the wine and pastry fine

Meanwhile outside: the grave!

None dared bemoan the yearns of home,

The thought indeed was shoo'd

And too, the time, for not sublime,

Was friendship new/renewed

How divine, in depth of wine

A masculine heart can swell

Default was smile, and all the while

The snow became a hell

It's time to go, back to the snow,

Continue on our way

And it's not far back to the bar

To drink another day

But through the door there was a gore

Or a glorious sight to see

I'll never know, so thick the snow

I couldn't see you from me

Now snow is a word I know you've heard,

But it doesn't quite fit here.

For what was around and covered the ground

Was torment mixed with fear!

We'd best be going, we said, all knowing

Another option rare.

On board and ski, we, happy, we,

Entered the winter's snare

In want of sight in the mountain's bite,

I called aloud to see

'I'm just nearby,' there came reply

Within a yard of me

Now when one's here with death so near,

One counts all their sins

The girls not kissed, the targets missed,

The losses and the wins

My home so far and my favorite bar

Seemed in another life.

My warmth, my bed, a place for my head,

so distant in this strife.

Alas, a glow! Through rude wind's blow,

Are we complete at last?

Down the slope, against all hope,

And soon a beer a-mast!

One can't help think as glasses clink,

How life is scarce and great.

Here at this table, we formed a fable

Of triumph over fate.

And that's a rhyme about a time

That turned us boys to men.

Moreso than not, I'd trade a lot,

To be on that hill again.