The Winter Queen, cold majesty,
So austere and harsh--
Will scatter your bones where the cat tails grow,
Down by the summer marsh.
Ice in all its forms
Are her wolves arrayed in pack;
You cannot love her and live--
You cannot seek her and ever go back.
Her hair is made of crows,
And January or June, it's winter where she goes;
She hates fire, she loves night,
And keeps her heart well out of sight.
Do you remember,
Little fool,
When the fluttering cardinal was her lips?
Do you recall
Her naked skin,
Her throat, her breasts, her ribs?
The Winter Queen, cold majesty,
Her favor gone frost instead--
Has scattered your bones where the cat tails grow,
Now frozen hard and dead.
______
Beautiful. Why are you up so late?!
ReplyDeleteNo comment really, I just like to read it over and over!
ReplyDeleteSecretia
Such diety of brutal winds and piercing flakes may consume me anyday =)
ReplyDeletefrozen beauty is still beauty...
ReplyDeleteOh my goddessness!!!
ReplyDeleteThat queen I need in my life- terrific and terrifying... YES, let's!
Even knowing their fate, who can resist her? Lovely poem, Shay!
ReplyDeleteThe winter queen. How fast warmth turns to frost.
ReplyDeleteLove the fluttering cardinal as her lips. Beautiful poem.
ReplyDeleteShe's so cold.
ReplyDeleteShe has ice in her veins
ReplyDeleteStill she fascinates,
just the same.
Her heart is cold, like ice
but I would not think twice
for to be hers would be nice....
It's a beautiful poem, but I think I'm ready for the Summer Queen.
ReplyDeleteWe've had quite enough snow already this year.
I thought about this, Fireblossom. My decision: I would follow this Queen of winter, if she guaranteed my cremation...a great fiery death.
ReplyDeleteWould she then melt or die also? Tristan Und Isolde? Maybe? See...I AM a romantic! Maybe?
Beautiful poem!!
ReplyDeleteAnother touching lyric .. you may call them poems but every time I read one it plays in my head like a song
ReplyDeleteDaryl is right. I heard this as song as well.
ReplyDelete"She's so cold, she's so c-c-c-c-cold.."
ReplyDelete