I think it was a blizzard,
But I can't remember.
It was cold.
I was just seven years old.
And I ran inside. 
To hide from the storm.
Thinking maybe I could get warm.

The water felt like ice,
But the sun was nice.
It was March. 
I can still hear the dirge.
And I ran inside.
I tried not to care.
Thinking maybe you'd be there.

The warmth was gone,
But I was alone.
It was done.
We'd had our fun.
And I ran inside.
I cried and said goodbye.
Thinking I would surely die.