Siberian Wind
Icy rains pelt angrily the ground,
Shacks and huts though unstable, sound.
The king that reigns is keeper of pride.
His flaws, outside seem most profound.
His butler doth usher him inside.
But this rainy country's summer's akin, "Bide
Thy time, fore the Winter's forlorned grasp
Is brought on by the tide." she sighed.
She awoke that night by the window's rasp.
Cracked slightly, snow filtering, copper handle grasped;
The curtains they writhed and came unwound.
Frozen with shock she stay as the Wind unclasped...
Winter winds had come, blew away his love, unfound
Love is war as his heavy ring is round
Himself was he lost in all the while
As he was the Wind, his words Winter sound...
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