Winter.

The white distances are swept
By millions of the snow covers.
Because of this we already stopped
Recognizing the voice of despair of ours.

By the endless snow desert
You will never get anywhere.
You'll simply lie down and die forever
In this place of pure nightmare.

I actually wrote this poem myself, but originally it was in Russian. You see, I live not too far away from my high school so I have to walk there, and it's not exactly a very pleasant experience in the winter under the endless snowfall and without any clear roads whatsoever.