'Snowy Ground' Poem by Thomas Adams

What shall pray become of me, amidst the pouring rain.
To chill this barren land of snow, whilst passers weigh disdain.
All mercy lost sometime ago, we tend it's 'slip away'.
And talk this talk to talk about, should beg return someday.

What must pray become of me to press the mounting strife
and tally high the longest wall whilst summing up this life.
No I am not the peasant here but King of 'Snowy Ground'.
Where lost becomes the nearest to the lost becoming found.