Disdainful Beauty
Disdainful beauty, goddess of the ice,
With gaze as piercing as a flint-tipped shard.
Age-old allure still does the Chill entice
To dance with her, and pose as Winter’s guard.
Her staff, which strikes the slipp’ry ground, commands
The timid Sun to seek his early death
And rules bold Night to sate all her demands;
She bends the iron with her frosty breath.
A sweeping cloak of snow behind her spreads
With ceaseless cold that trails within its wake.
As Winter, in her icy bearing, threads
Within a soul a crave, a pow’rful ache –
Desire to see the sun shine down once more,
Rememb’ring springtimes that had passed before.
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