February 18

Feet squelching we trudge, amid piercing cries

Shaking fists at the moon for our sandpaper thighs

Like penguins we waddle, on through the grey

'Til the chafe feels like fire ants swarming their prey

No need for a path, we're too tired to care

Stumbling over roots, we hope we are drawing near

Oh chafe you rascal, you've ruined my day

And that is all that I have to say