Dear winter whose frost freezes time,

Possess the limbs of mine,

Play a piece silent to Apollo’s eye,

In the wake of his sigh,

 

Blue hues soak the tones I play,

Euphoria nor Euphony,

Rise in rhythm with day,

The moon wails at my lunacy

 

Waning, the crest’s end falls quite,

Acquiesced, the sun drags its rays,

Across the land, the piece demands it grand,

But my frigid, frostbite hands are afraid

 

The piece requires grand canyon dips,

But the keys only go so far,

With pressure, my fingertips start to slip,

Beckoning for the warmth of a star

 

Waxing, the moon fills with liquid illumination,

Seeping to the brim,

The full moon provides a thawing foundation,

For my hands will start to win

 

The hourglass melts and time starts to trickle,

The tempo beats in perfect harmony,

And the rhythm is no longer fickle