The early morning quiet was shattered
With the sound of crackling crystal crowns,
Of elegantlly dressed trees falling into space.
Translucent ball gowns crumbled and
Crashed in crystal towers on the frozen forest floor.
The trees wailed and moaned, joining
In passionate strands of choral crescendo weeping.
The echoing sad song of the trees
Persisted and giant tears splashed
The ice palace ball would be cancelled.
The sun spread out in joyful radiance,
Lingering on everything.
The winter night returned, wrapping
Around naked trees.
The woods are silent now, and listens to
The wind as it serenades the trees
with soft lullabies.
The solitary, pale, crescent moon, gazed down
Cool and aloof from a navy blue
Midnight colored sky.
The stars refused to twinkle and play, or to
Carpet the sky with trails of diamond dust.
'Let the melancholy moon hang its lanthorn light'
They whispered, after all, the ice palace ball
Has been cancelled.