The trees blown bare by winds
Conduct the orchestration
A ghastly pallid hand
Marks the coronation
Sweeps across the land
Paints charcoal lines on white
Exhausted colors flee
Into the waxing night
My love's silver hair
Her pale bare features glowing
From my window pane
Anticipation growing
But a reflection asks
Who loves this icy maiden?
Arriving every year
Whom bitter frost has laden
Answered without pause
With manifested breath
I do, I greet her yearly
Though heralded by death
And so arrives my love
With quiet celebration
Contemplative stillness
Sees our consummation
