If Winters wails were to tell a tale,
Would it be of her hair so fair or lip so pale?
If you'd meet those lips would they steal your breath?
As her cold seeps in you'd catch your death.
Her winds bare no rhythm or rhyme;
They blow eternal, oblivious of time.
Many men shun her frigid embrace.
Footprints in her snow leave evidence of their pace.
She longs for a lover to hold her tight,
But finds that none can last through the night
Frozen are her tears which blanket on the ground
That we'd all trample with so gleeful a sound.