Soupers say my pen radiates an icy chill.
My words are able to freeze hell's fiery gates, which gives me such a thrill!
February's cold gusty wind, is no match for my cold hearted pen.
Some poets may not comprehend, but I metamorphosed from my wintry sin!
My stanzas are arctic and raw, nipping at any poet who dares.
I try and leave my reader in awe, with eyes that surprise the coldest stares!
I'm always roaming the icy land, looking for a poet to slay.
With a poetic tribal headband, I dominate with my chilling word play!