This time of year,
The suns hand grows more distant,
And the nights spread further round the clock,
All blood chills at the realisation,

The land once again dons her ivory dress,
And tiaras like frozen stalactites,
An ice queen crowned anew,
Blizzards and bitter rain as coronation melodies,

The winds rise up in rumpus,
Servants of the wintry monarch,
Blades firmly pointed at us serfs,
Guffawing and scratching at our cheeks,

The ice queens rule shall persist for months,
Snow and sleet as her bishops and viscounts,
A frigid stasis holding the world,
Under cold iron fist.

Comments
  1. Carol anne says:

    Very good I liked this a lot! ❤

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