As we crunched through snow together

In inclement Arctic weather,

I thought I’d bring to mind an Old Icelandic song;

There’s a saga of the Viking

That you need to heed when hiking

That “Pissing in His Boots -

Keeps No Man Warm for Long”.

In Nordic runes it’s written

That if your foot’s frost-bitten

Don’t fumble with your flaps to free your frozen prong;

Whilst the warmth of urine might

Afford a transient respite

“Pissing in His Boots –

Keeps No Man Warm for Long”.

Now already you’ll be gleaning

There’s a second, deeper, meaning

That short-term exigencies always turn out wrong;

As a simple rule of thumb

They will stab you up the bum

Cos “Pissing in His Boots -

Keeps No Man Warm for Long”.

If you fail to grasp the nettle

Of Hard Choices but you settle

For the easy way, you’ll find you’ll just prolong

The pain of future heartache

In which you’re doomed to partake,

Cos “Pissing in His Boots –

Keeps No Man Warm for Long”.

My friend thanked me profusely,

Retorting quite obtusely,

Adding that there’s more that he thought we ought to know;

That if your thirst needs slaking,

A big mistake you’re making’s

To try to quench your thirst -

By eating yellow snow.