cold, bitterest of colds

cold, bitterest of colds,
I stand outside the warmth of everyone
and wait.
Yawning, the cold ignites my gag reflex
and I cough wildly.
It looks as though I'm on fire
as the steam pours from my mouth.
I continue to wait.

cold, bitterest of colds,
January trees stand outside,
their branches shocked white
from the cold.
They look dead,
standing together
making this field (any field in January)
a cemetery,
a collection of the dead, white, branches.

We stand together,
the trees and I,
in this cold.
No longer alone,
I feel that we can face this element.
We can stand upon this frosted ground
and not let the cold overrun our bodies.
Together, we are immune from this disease,
and it will not spread
as long as we stick together.