When it comes to the moment

We're too old dogs 
to learn new tricks. 
Old bones are in the throes of a storm force. 
January Ice Pearl thread 
a string of pearls by winter soil frost build up. 
Frost is just a habit 
cheek in desperate need to tweak. 
I can hear at night in winter icy bridges 
outdoor passion to build. 
January is packed with the full moon, 
the freshness of the brain receives twilight 
gray to gradually give up. 
White noise in the radio 
some may call the station. 
Dreams come true when they carry me again? 
When it comes to the moment that the mornings 
the joy of giving, and in the evenings strong women carry?