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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I stand beside a silver bed Of ice and ask still why? My heart filled with remorse and loss While watching winter die. The snow white fingers in my hand That bear the scars of war, I feel the life drain from their grasp Why will you live no more? The crystals on the trees are gone Your mirrors shattered through, The wind and storms have lost their soul Now death has come for you. Your silver blood lay spilled like rain Each stream and river filled, Who cut this wound into your heart Who bears this murders guilt. Your breath comes without dying words Your grave a silent gate, The fertile ground an iron wall I cannot penetrate. Farewell, the word I cannot say The question still remains, Who stabbed the knife into your flesh Who caused your death in pain. Each day passes with its emptiness That lingers slow and grey, Yet change I feel upon each dawn Of something on its way I hear a voice within the night That whispers like the breeze, The moon a sickle in the sky Strange fragrance in the trees. Then on one morning's golden edge I saw a figure stand, A slender woman clothed in green A dagger in her hand. She strode with beauty and with pride Yet in her footprints lay, Small drops of silver tinted blood Upon the ground of May. I saw a fire in her eyes And youth within her breath, And asked the question in my soul Did she cause winter's death? Is she the one, the murderer has melted all the snow? Is she the one that held the knife And gave the vital blow? I stand beside a silver grave Of stone, your life is gone, Yet knowing, still I ask again Is spring, is she the one?
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